Only a few weeks after my disastrous lesson (I did have a decent lesson in between) I had a mishap with a church solo that took me into territory I had not been in since 2014: panicking and/or not having the right "spin" on my voice to sail up to a high note. Now, granted, this is not a note that I have ever sung in a church solo (more on that later) but it is certainly a note (A natural) that I have been singing well in arias and songs for the past four plus years.
So what went wrong?
I would tend to suspect winter asthma, but then the question is: what do I do?
First, this is not a note I would have chosen to sing. I was looking for an arrangement of the carol "I Wonder as I Wander" and found one that I thought was in the right key (with the top note being an F sharp; in the arranagement in the hymnal, the top note is a D) but after I paid for the arrangement and printed it out, I saw that the third verse went up into a completely different key where the high note was an A! The only reason I agreed to sing this in public is that when I sang it at home it sounded really good, sounded good at my lesson, and sounded good at my runthrough with the church accompanist on Thursday.
Then I had a huge asthma attack. I don't have these very often, although I have endless respiratory problems, including massive sinus drainage. On the rare occasions that I get a cold, interestingly, it's the bottom of my voice that gets knocked out and I can sort of "float" the high notes around it, although my voice sounds smaller.
The type of asthma that I have is called "cough variant asthma". I don't wheeze and gasp for breath, but my chest feels tight and when I exhale I have a dry cough and a feeling that there is sticky dry mucus in my bronchial tubes. If it's really bad I use an inhaler, which I did yesterday.
This morning I felt fine, and warmed up to a high B that was easy and shimmery. And I could hold it. Then I went out into the cold. When I got to the church I felt short of breath and my singing was very labored. I nailed the high note in the runthrough but it felt labored. Then I thought that if I exhaled a lot (often that helps my singing) I would be ok in the actual service, but I barely made it up to that note, held it about a half a count, and it sounded like a cat yowling when you step on its tail. So ok, the rest of the piece sounded good, particularly the last verse, and I got a lot of compliments, but I haven't been in this place vocally or mentally in a very long time.
Is it a health issue, period? I know I felt very tired singing through all the carols for the rest of the service (it was our annual "Lessons and Carols"). My voice didn't feel tired, but my chest felt very heavy. And I just felt such fatigue. Which followed me home and it's only now, about five hours later, that I feel normal.
I sang on this date last year when it was about four degrees out and didn't have this problem.
I just hope I can blow it off and start over.
Someone made a video and I told him to cut it off after the second verse (I listened to it and the high note sounded as bad as I had thought) but he said he would also give me a version that had the whole thing, which I really need so I can send it to my teacher. I know he has had all sorts of health problems of this nature and has sung some really God-awful high notes. But then he has the choice of switching to bass baritone. I'm already a mezzo. I'm not going to switch to contralto! I don't have a very low voice anyhow. The best part of my voice is from the middle of the staff up to an F or F sharp at the top.
Next time I see my primary care physician (I have my annual physical in January) I will ask her what to do; if she has any suggestions.
Sunday, December 30, 2018
Tuesday, December 18, 2018
The Bitter and the Sweet 2018 Wrap Up
I need to find a more imaginative title; this one is getting stale - maybe.
Of course I need to start with the Sweet; to quote Stephanie Ruhle "Who doesn't like good news, right?"
My life is sweet. I am enjoying Christmas. I bought both my partner and myself a small Christmas tree.
I have learned to enjoy Christmas. If I consider myself a Unitarian theologically, I can celebrate any holiday I like. Also, my therapist told me something interesting. She said that probably the reason my mother always had a Christmas tree (and loved Christmas) despite considering herself a secular Jew was that in Germany before the Holocaust, most Jews (who were not Orthodox) celebrated Christmas. It was considered a German holiday, much as Thanksgiving is considered an American one. My maternal grandfather came from Austria-Hungary. My maternal grandmother's family had been in Philadelphia for generations and most likely originally came from Germany in 1848.
I have a solo. On Christmas Eve I will get to sing lovely music with the choir. I am surrounded by beauty.
My voice seems to be back on track. "O Mio Fernando" is back in my voice. Right now I'm not sure where I'd sing it; maybe I can swap it with "Mon Coeur" in one of my nursing home concerts. If I do the 30 minute demo concert that I had discussed with the recreation director at a new residence, I would use "The Drinking Song" as my aria because it's bouncy and "party-ish".
As for future church plans, I was speaking with the new dramatic soprano in the choir. and we may do a duet together next year. (For whatever reason, I don't feel envious about her the way I did about "Little Miss"; probably because she's older, much more modest, and does not want to use church as an arena for showing off. She helps with the choir or sings a solo when asked, period.) Anyhow she mentioned to me that she had made a recording of "Inflammatus" from the Rossini Stabat Mater and so I told her that I had sung "Fac ut Portem" at church several years ago. I mentioned that there is a duet in Stabat Mater and that maybe we could sing it during Holy Week 2019. I will take a look at it and when the time is appropriate, see if the Music Director could find a spot for it. She seemed to be interested.
As for the Bitter.
Last night our chamber music series featured a one act opera that starred a mezzo whom I had been in one of those meetups with long ago. (I didn't go to it; I said I would be tired after teaching all afternoon, but I suppose in addition I didn't think seeing this particular woman would be all that great for my resolve to love my life and mind my own business.) In retrospect, I can say that what I learned from those meetups was that they were for people like her not for people like me. At the time she was very young and just doing audition rounds. I was struggling with my large unwieldy voice and my nerves. She was probably in her 20s. I was about 58. Now, 10 years later (I looked at her resume) she has not only received acclaim for her world premieres, she seems to have an extensive resume of roles from Rossini to Wagner, both soprano and mezzo, and to top it all off she is no bigger than a size 8!! (I know this not just by looking at her picture but because the stage manager was trying to find the right kind of skirt for her to wear in the performance.) Digging deeper (boy am I a glutton for punishment!) I read that she grew up with musician parents and spent every summer at a prestigious music festival, beginning with the age of four (sounds like the children of my choir director and his wife). So this is my "competition". Not for roles - I don't have that much hubris!! - but for attention, for getting to perform in free spaces, for audiences. And people like her are everywhere. And with each year that my singing technique improves, these people multiply and, say, go from A to M in the time it has taken me to get from A to D and I am between 30 and 40 years older than they are and time is running out!! So again, it's really an issue of struggling to make myself believe that I matter.
Of course I need to start with the Sweet; to quote Stephanie Ruhle "Who doesn't like good news, right?"
My life is sweet. I am enjoying Christmas. I bought both my partner and myself a small Christmas tree.
I have learned to enjoy Christmas. If I consider myself a Unitarian theologically, I can celebrate any holiday I like. Also, my therapist told me something interesting. She said that probably the reason my mother always had a Christmas tree (and loved Christmas) despite considering herself a secular Jew was that in Germany before the Holocaust, most Jews (who were not Orthodox) celebrated Christmas. It was considered a German holiday, much as Thanksgiving is considered an American one. My maternal grandfather came from Austria-Hungary. My maternal grandmother's family had been in Philadelphia for generations and most likely originally came from Germany in 1848.
I have a solo. On Christmas Eve I will get to sing lovely music with the choir. I am surrounded by beauty.
My voice seems to be back on track. "O Mio Fernando" is back in my voice. Right now I'm not sure where I'd sing it; maybe I can swap it with "Mon Coeur" in one of my nursing home concerts. If I do the 30 minute demo concert that I had discussed with the recreation director at a new residence, I would use "The Drinking Song" as my aria because it's bouncy and "party-ish".
As for future church plans, I was speaking with the new dramatic soprano in the choir. and we may do a duet together next year. (For whatever reason, I don't feel envious about her the way I did about "Little Miss"; probably because she's older, much more modest, and does not want to use church as an arena for showing off. She helps with the choir or sings a solo when asked, period.) Anyhow she mentioned to me that she had made a recording of "Inflammatus" from the Rossini Stabat Mater and so I told her that I had sung "Fac ut Portem" at church several years ago. I mentioned that there is a duet in Stabat Mater and that maybe we could sing it during Holy Week 2019. I will take a look at it and when the time is appropriate, see if the Music Director could find a spot for it. She seemed to be interested.
As for the Bitter.
Last night our chamber music series featured a one act opera that starred a mezzo whom I had been in one of those meetups with long ago. (I didn't go to it; I said I would be tired after teaching all afternoon, but I suppose in addition I didn't think seeing this particular woman would be all that great for my resolve to love my life and mind my own business.) In retrospect, I can say that what I learned from those meetups was that they were for people like her not for people like me. At the time she was very young and just doing audition rounds. I was struggling with my large unwieldy voice and my nerves. She was probably in her 20s. I was about 58. Now, 10 years later (I looked at her resume) she has not only received acclaim for her world premieres, she seems to have an extensive resume of roles from Rossini to Wagner, both soprano and mezzo, and to top it all off she is no bigger than a size 8!! (I know this not just by looking at her picture but because the stage manager was trying to find the right kind of skirt for her to wear in the performance.) Digging deeper (boy am I a glutton for punishment!) I read that she grew up with musician parents and spent every summer at a prestigious music festival, beginning with the age of four (sounds like the children of my choir director and his wife). So this is my "competition". Not for roles - I don't have that much hubris!! - but for attention, for getting to perform in free spaces, for audiences. And people like her are everywhere. And with each year that my singing technique improves, these people multiply and, say, go from A to M in the time it has taken me to get from A to D and I am between 30 and 40 years older than they are and time is running out!! So again, it's really an issue of struggling to make myself believe that I matter.
Thursday, December 13, 2018
A Bummer
Yesterday's lesson did not end well, which is something that has not happened for a long time.
The short version is: after doing my regular exercises and singing through my solo for December 30 (a solo version of the carol "I Wonder as I Wander", which I transposed up so that the top note is an F sharp), I tried to read through "Non piu di Fiori" from La Clemenza di Tito. I did a great job until I got to the last page at which point I ran out of steam and realized that no way could I get up to that high A and hold it for 5 counts. Yes, I can now hold a high A for 5 counts (did it in the opening to the Bolena duet that I sang with my teacher in several concerts) but this A comes after two pages of singing without a break. And no ad libbing.
As I've said, my high register has gotten a lot better, and I've sung a lot of flashy and challenging things, but I realize that these are mostly bel canto arias where the singer can take lots of liberties leading up to difficult passages (or the passages themselves are improvised cadenzas), including dropping out of the vocal line for 2-4 measures before the final climax (which is an old tradition).
Anyhow, my teacher was annoyed with me for "giving up" (I had no trouble singing the phrase with the high note if I just sang the note and the few measures leading up to it) but then we agreed that if I was not "madly in love" with the piece it was not worth putting in all that hard work. (As a contrast, I was madly in love with "Tanti Affetti" and was able to master all the florid passages with the high B flats, but as I said, most of those were a piacere).
And whether or not I was madly in love with "Non piu di Fiori", I don't think it would have "mass appeal" for the only non-church audiences I now sing for: in nursing homes. "Tanti Affetti" did have mass appeal, because like all Rossini, it's bouncy.
So my teacher and I decided that I should go back to "O Mio Fernando", something I have not sung in years, but that I always sang well. And maybe I'll go back to working on "Bel Raggio", the (putative) soprano aria from Semiramide (I say "putative" because it only goes up to an A and I found it in one of my mezzo aria books.)
The irony at my lesson, come to think of it, was that I had wanted to sing through "Bel Raggio" but my teacher didn't have a copy of it.
I think another problem is that I have been hit hard with my winter respiratory problems. My bronchial tubes are full of dry mucus. I cough, I wheeze, I blow my nose constantly. And this despite using my Neti pot every morning (I won't be scared away by stories of fatal amoebas; I boil the water first.) So at my lesson, even in the beginning, singing was hard work.
And to end it all, it doesn't help that I am seeing posts on Facebook that often involve conversations among some of the people I had unfriended because I was envious of them (or maybe they unfriended me because I said things that were nasty; see previous post) so I am deeply engaged with the green-eyed monster again.
Recently I have disengaged from him/it by staying away from "real" singers, other than my teacher, and what I can watch on Youtube. I don't need to hear women in their 30s talk about repetoire and all the auditions they are going to and (among the worst of the worst) how much they despise amateurs and pretenders. I am much happier when I confine my performing arts consumption to instrumental music and ballet, with the occasional stop to hear lieder.
So, OK. now it's time to pull up my socks and look forward to spending January networking to schedule a concert.
The short version is: after doing my regular exercises and singing through my solo for December 30 (a solo version of the carol "I Wonder as I Wander", which I transposed up so that the top note is an F sharp), I tried to read through "Non piu di Fiori" from La Clemenza di Tito. I did a great job until I got to the last page at which point I ran out of steam and realized that no way could I get up to that high A and hold it for 5 counts. Yes, I can now hold a high A for 5 counts (did it in the opening to the Bolena duet that I sang with my teacher in several concerts) but this A comes after two pages of singing without a break. And no ad libbing.
As I've said, my high register has gotten a lot better, and I've sung a lot of flashy and challenging things, but I realize that these are mostly bel canto arias where the singer can take lots of liberties leading up to difficult passages (or the passages themselves are improvised cadenzas), including dropping out of the vocal line for 2-4 measures before the final climax (which is an old tradition).
Anyhow, my teacher was annoyed with me for "giving up" (I had no trouble singing the phrase with the high note if I just sang the note and the few measures leading up to it) but then we agreed that if I was not "madly in love" with the piece it was not worth putting in all that hard work. (As a contrast, I was madly in love with "Tanti Affetti" and was able to master all the florid passages with the high B flats, but as I said, most of those were a piacere).
And whether or not I was madly in love with "Non piu di Fiori", I don't think it would have "mass appeal" for the only non-church audiences I now sing for: in nursing homes. "Tanti Affetti" did have mass appeal, because like all Rossini, it's bouncy.
So my teacher and I decided that I should go back to "O Mio Fernando", something I have not sung in years, but that I always sang well. And maybe I'll go back to working on "Bel Raggio", the (putative) soprano aria from Semiramide (I say "putative" because it only goes up to an A and I found it in one of my mezzo aria books.)
The irony at my lesson, come to think of it, was that I had wanted to sing through "Bel Raggio" but my teacher didn't have a copy of it.
I think another problem is that I have been hit hard with my winter respiratory problems. My bronchial tubes are full of dry mucus. I cough, I wheeze, I blow my nose constantly. And this despite using my Neti pot every morning (I won't be scared away by stories of fatal amoebas; I boil the water first.) So at my lesson, even in the beginning, singing was hard work.
And to end it all, it doesn't help that I am seeing posts on Facebook that often involve conversations among some of the people I had unfriended because I was envious of them (or maybe they unfriended me because I said things that were nasty; see previous post) so I am deeply engaged with the green-eyed monster again.
Recently I have disengaged from him/it by staying away from "real" singers, other than my teacher, and what I can watch on Youtube. I don't need to hear women in their 30s talk about repetoire and all the auditions they are going to and (among the worst of the worst) how much they despise amateurs and pretenders. I am much happier when I confine my performing arts consumption to instrumental music and ballet, with the occasional stop to hear lieder.
So, OK. now it's time to pull up my socks and look forward to spending January networking to schedule a concert.
Friday, November 9, 2018
Note to Self: Pull Yourself Together
I never got a chance to post anything about my second concert, which went really well (I think I sang better than the first time) because the next day my partner appeared listless and complained of a bellyache so I had to rush her to the ER. It turned out she had what could have been a life-threatening bowel blockage. Then just when it seemed as if she was going to go home, she developed C. difficile.
All together, she was in the hospital for 9 days. My number one priority was being with her so I didn't get much work done. I did get a little practicing done but really wasn't focusing on singing.
Since she's been back, for whatever reason, I have missed my 5-6 practice time. There is actually no reason why that should be my practice time, other than that because I am used to working in an office, if I am home any part of 9 to 5, I use those hours to do the editing that I do for a living. Tuesday I missed my practice time to watch the election!!
Amazingly, my voice is still there (Wednesday I had a lesson), but I really need to get back in the saddle. Yesterday (Thursday) I missed choir rehearsal and spent the whole day in such a nonstop state of stress that I thought I was going to have a heart attack. First I went around the block five or six times with my case manager and an attorney to find out if my partner's Medicaid had been renewed, then I spent an hour trying to find out where our ambulance was (to take her to a follow-up appointment) only to be put on hold for a total of 30 minutes. Skipping choir practice was planned as I didn't know what time I would be back to the Upper West Side after bringing my partner home from the appointment (I got home at 7:30, which is when rehearsal starts, and as it takes 20 minutes for me to get there and at least 15 for me to warm up, not to mention that I was sweaty and needed to organize some things at home so I would not have made it there even if I were in any shape to sing which I probably was not).
It seems lately I have been practicing every three days (and some of these times are just warming up for choir, but I guess that's enough if I warm up at least to a B flat).
Part of the problem, of course, is that I have no date on my calendar. I don't schedule concerts between Thanksgiving and Easter partly because of all the singing that's going on at the church, but mostly because I don't want to plan anything major during the season when it might snow. The number one way in which age has affected my physical well-being is that I feel unsafe in the snow, even with a cane. Other than church and choir practice, any other commitment is up for rescheduling during those months. So right now I've got my eye on December 30. I have sung on that Sunday (last year it was the 31st and the year before it was January 1) for the past two years, but I won't know anything until I get the Advent/Christmas choir schedule and touch base with the Music Director about scheduling. If someone else wants that date they should have it because I've had two "turns", on the other hand, half of the choir goes "home" for Christmas so there might not be any other takers, other than a man who likes to sing at the early service (he sang at 9 last year when I sang at 11). I pulled out the Lauridsen "O Magnum Mysterium", which I sang three years ago some time in December, and have found a new song by Wolf, called "Schlafendes Jesuskind" that might be appropriate. It would have been a "no" four or five years ago because it has an A flat in it (the previous Music Director didn't like "heavy voices singing in that range") but now it should be fine, with my new level of confidence and my slighly higher "sweet spot". I will listen to a Youtube of it and see what I think. And of course there's always "Rejoice", which is my favorite thing to sing in the whole world. You know, it's one of those pieces that sounds difficult (and it also sounds high) to other people but it is actually not (high) and it has always been very easy for me to sing.
For another time, I found a song by Alma Mahler called "In meines Vaters Garten" which I really like. I brought it to my lesson on Wednesday and my teacher said he liked it. He said it reminded him of the Wesendonck Lieder (I guess I could also sing "Angel" in church but that's more suitable for Advent) and that because it's "tuneful" I could probably add it to a recital program.
So now I just need to get back to my practice routine. I should be able to practice Monday. Tuesday probably not because I may have to sleep over at my partner's if her podiatrist is coming Wednesday morning. If he's coming Wednesday afternoon (I won't know that until Tuesday) I can practice Tuesday as well. If I don't get to practice Tuesday I will pass on a neighborhood meeting I had penciled in for Wednesday evening and practice instead.
And I can't lose heart. Last night (when I was already exhaused and feeling emotionally drained), I "re-encountered" one of the people on Facebook I had unfriended (or maybe she unfriended me) because the envy I felt for her led me to say something that she didn't like (that singers were self-absorbed maybe? well, they are! particularly if they don't have children or some other responsibility that's more important to them than flaunting head shots and photos of themselves in gowns). Anyhow, that put my self-esteem back in the basement, somewhere it has not been for a while.
No matter how old and wise (?) I get, it never stops being painful to be surrounded by people who are doing in real life what I imagine myself doing, wished I were doing, can do a tiny bit of, and will never do a lot of no matter how hard I work (which isn't an excuse to stop working by the way).
We were having a conversation about neighbors and I was realizing that having a building full of people who go to the Met all the time (it's around the corner) including one who's a music critic with a wife who majored in voice at Manhattan School of Music who even though she doesn't sing any more has the snobbish attitude of 99% of the conservatory graduates I've ever met, nobody gives a damn if I sing because I'm so nothing.
I just can't think about that. I can't lose heart. A friend told me that someone told her that if I sing I'm a singer, and if more than 50% of what I sing is operatic, I'm an opera singer, and all the "snitterati" on the Forum can't take that away from me.
All together, she was in the hospital for 9 days. My number one priority was being with her so I didn't get much work done. I did get a little practicing done but really wasn't focusing on singing.
Since she's been back, for whatever reason, I have missed my 5-6 practice time. There is actually no reason why that should be my practice time, other than that because I am used to working in an office, if I am home any part of 9 to 5, I use those hours to do the editing that I do for a living. Tuesday I missed my practice time to watch the election!!
Amazingly, my voice is still there (Wednesday I had a lesson), but I really need to get back in the saddle. Yesterday (Thursday) I missed choir rehearsal and spent the whole day in such a nonstop state of stress that I thought I was going to have a heart attack. First I went around the block five or six times with my case manager and an attorney to find out if my partner's Medicaid had been renewed, then I spent an hour trying to find out where our ambulance was (to take her to a follow-up appointment) only to be put on hold for a total of 30 minutes. Skipping choir practice was planned as I didn't know what time I would be back to the Upper West Side after bringing my partner home from the appointment (I got home at 7:30, which is when rehearsal starts, and as it takes 20 minutes for me to get there and at least 15 for me to warm up, not to mention that I was sweaty and needed to organize some things at home so I would not have made it there even if I were in any shape to sing which I probably was not).
It seems lately I have been practicing every three days (and some of these times are just warming up for choir, but I guess that's enough if I warm up at least to a B flat).
Part of the problem, of course, is that I have no date on my calendar. I don't schedule concerts between Thanksgiving and Easter partly because of all the singing that's going on at the church, but mostly because I don't want to plan anything major during the season when it might snow. The number one way in which age has affected my physical well-being is that I feel unsafe in the snow, even with a cane. Other than church and choir practice, any other commitment is up for rescheduling during those months. So right now I've got my eye on December 30. I have sung on that Sunday (last year it was the 31st and the year before it was January 1) for the past two years, but I won't know anything until I get the Advent/Christmas choir schedule and touch base with the Music Director about scheduling. If someone else wants that date they should have it because I've had two "turns", on the other hand, half of the choir goes "home" for Christmas so there might not be any other takers, other than a man who likes to sing at the early service (he sang at 9 last year when I sang at 11). I pulled out the Lauridsen "O Magnum Mysterium", which I sang three years ago some time in December, and have found a new song by Wolf, called "Schlafendes Jesuskind" that might be appropriate. It would have been a "no" four or five years ago because it has an A flat in it (the previous Music Director didn't like "heavy voices singing in that range") but now it should be fine, with my new level of confidence and my slighly higher "sweet spot". I will listen to a Youtube of it and see what I think. And of course there's always "Rejoice", which is my favorite thing to sing in the whole world. You know, it's one of those pieces that sounds difficult (and it also sounds high) to other people but it is actually not (high) and it has always been very easy for me to sing.
For another time, I found a song by Alma Mahler called "In meines Vaters Garten" which I really like. I brought it to my lesson on Wednesday and my teacher said he liked it. He said it reminded him of the Wesendonck Lieder (I guess I could also sing "Angel" in church but that's more suitable for Advent) and that because it's "tuneful" I could probably add it to a recital program.
So now I just need to get back to my practice routine. I should be able to practice Monday. Tuesday probably not because I may have to sleep over at my partner's if her podiatrist is coming Wednesday morning. If he's coming Wednesday afternoon (I won't know that until Tuesday) I can practice Tuesday as well. If I don't get to practice Tuesday I will pass on a neighborhood meeting I had penciled in for Wednesday evening and practice instead.
And I can't lose heart. Last night (when I was already exhaused and feeling emotionally drained), I "re-encountered" one of the people on Facebook I had unfriended (or maybe she unfriended me) because the envy I felt for her led me to say something that she didn't like (that singers were self-absorbed maybe? well, they are! particularly if they don't have children or some other responsibility that's more important to them than flaunting head shots and photos of themselves in gowns). Anyhow, that put my self-esteem back in the basement, somewhere it has not been for a while.
No matter how old and wise (?) I get, it never stops being painful to be surrounded by people who are doing in real life what I imagine myself doing, wished I were doing, can do a tiny bit of, and will never do a lot of no matter how hard I work (which isn't an excuse to stop working by the way).
We were having a conversation about neighbors and I was realizing that having a building full of people who go to the Met all the time (it's around the corner) including one who's a music critic with a wife who majored in voice at Manhattan School of Music who even though she doesn't sing any more has the snobbish attitude of 99% of the conservatory graduates I've ever met, nobody gives a damn if I sing because I'm so nothing.
I just can't think about that. I can't lose heart. A friend told me that someone told her that if I sing I'm a singer, and if more than 50% of what I sing is operatic, I'm an opera singer, and all the "snitterati" on the Forum can't take that away from me.
Saturday, October 6, 2018
A Good Concert
All in all, today's concert went well. The Bolena duet went very well, and that is what I always worry about because it's in a high tessitura and requires a lot of stamina. I thought I used too much chest in the Gioconda duet but when I asked my teacher (and his wife) they said no. I also thought "Mon Coeur" sounded (or felt) labored but it probably didn't sound that way to the audience. I may work on both those early this week. Normally in my practice sessions I have only been singing the Bolena.
The only critical feedback I got from my teacher was he said sometimes I was singing too softly. This again was a room with a low ceiling, which can muffle the sound.
There was a small kerfuffle when we got there because apparently the space had been double booked (with a pianist and two singers, who were doing Mozart) but we were able to work things out by having them use the salon room upstairs. That is a lovely room, just not as large as the room where I was singing.
Also, a few people told me I shouldn't sing "Home Sweet Home" to end nursing home concerts because the people may feel sad that they are not "home". In the past, this thought briefly crossed my mind, but I never really thought about it again because no one has ever seemed upset when I've sung that. I talked about it with my teacher and he said maybe in the future (not for the concert in two weeks, because we have that all mapped out and are not doing additional rehearsals) we can sing "When You Walk Through a Storm" as a duet.
And a woman I used to work with came and brought me flowers. I so love getting flowers and people rarely think of it. She also said she might see about having me sing at a nursing home in Queens where her mother was. I said that would be good in May or June.
The only critical feedback I got from my teacher was he said sometimes I was singing too softly. This again was a room with a low ceiling, which can muffle the sound.
There was a small kerfuffle when we got there because apparently the space had been double booked (with a pianist and two singers, who were doing Mozart) but we were able to work things out by having them use the salon room upstairs. That is a lovely room, just not as large as the room where I was singing.
Also, a few people told me I shouldn't sing "Home Sweet Home" to end nursing home concerts because the people may feel sad that they are not "home". In the past, this thought briefly crossed my mind, but I never really thought about it again because no one has ever seemed upset when I've sung that. I talked about it with my teacher and he said maybe in the future (not for the concert in two weeks, because we have that all mapped out and are not doing additional rehearsals) we can sing "When You Walk Through a Storm" as a duet.
And a woman I used to work with came and brought me flowers. I so love getting flowers and people rarely think of it. She also said she might see about having me sing at a nursing home in Queens where her mother was. I said that would be good in May or June.
Wednesday, October 3, 2018
The Bitter and the Sweet (Fall 2018 Edition)
I guess life is "the bitter and the sweet", hence my repeated use of this post title.
First the bitter (because I'm writing about events in chronological order).
Sunday afternoon I went to an anniversary service for my church's former pastor (the tall, drop dead gorgeous blonde) at her new church, and guess who was singing? Little Miss. I was in shock. I had expected maybe a soloist from my pastor's new church, or their choir, but no, there was Little Miss and her violinist boyfriend (whom I always had a great relationship with; he used to accompany me for solos with violin, like the Bach "Laudamus te").
I guess Pastor had invited them. And I suppose one reason was that she got a "twofer".
In all honesty, I can't say that I was upset that she didn't ask me, why should she.
I think I was upset because Little Miss represents everything I wish I'd had, wish I had, wish I'd done, and wish I'd been (or still was). First of all she's young and on an upward trajectory. She has been performing (not singing classical music, but singing) since she was in middle school. She's been disciplined, admired, curated, what you will, since then. Of course she put in the work. I will never say she got something for nothing. But it's often a feedback loop. You do well, people encourage you, you do better. You make friends and colleagues among those who do what you do, and that follows you into the future.
Now if you were to ask me if I think Little Miss will have a brilliant career and the world's greatest opera houses, I will probably say no. She is a generic lyric soprano. Where she is unusual, is/was in exhibiting such technical vocal perfection at such a young age. She sang the soprano solo in the Brahms Requiem five years ago, at the age of 20, in a totally flawless way, just sitting in a choir chair in a pair of jeans and tossing it off. She belts, she acts, she sings musical theater, she sings contemporary music. Probably if the New York City Opera were like it had been in the 60s, she could probably land a spot there. She has a "feel" for new music and opera in English that's a little bit like musical theater. And of course she has mentors. A famous voice teacher from a famous conservatory, a CV containing master classes and summer programs, and her boyfriend, who was a child prodigy with his own Wikipedia page and who has his finger in every possible kind of musical and theatrical pie.
Now I need to add here, as I have said before, that Little Miss is neither conceited nor Prima Donna-ish. She just is. She excels, she enjoys it, people gush, and she enjoys that, in a sort of innocent childlike way.
At the celebration on Sunday when I went to the party afterwards to give my regards to Pastor, I ran into Boyfriend and we chatted and then he mentioned that Little Miss was there and wanted to say "hello". So I did. I'm sure she was genuinely happy to see me.
So I ended up in a funk for the next day. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to give myself the kind of polish you get in a conservatory when you spend 8 years there and don't have anything else to worry about.
So on to the next thing. The Sweet. We had our last rehearsal for our recital and it went well. Really the only difficult thing I have to sing is the Bolena duet and it is going well. Not to jinx myself, but these days I seem to be able to confidently hold onto a high A for 8 counts without choking or panicking as easily as I used to be able to hold onto an F.
And when I was on my way to rehearsal yesterday, I got an email from a woman from another senior residence about doing a 30 minute demo recital. I had contacted her a while ago about doing a concert of some kind and she said she was a bit leery because the last time she had elicited feedback from the residents they had told her that they wanted more "nonclassical" music. So she said a compromise would be that I would do a half hour demo recital and she would ask for feedback. So I can have fun deciding what to sing (and I will ask my teacher if he wants to join me).
And I will order an anthology of songs by Alma Mahler. Monday night I went to the monthly free chamber music concert at my church (they bring in up and comings; sadly, nothing for the homegrown talent) and a woman sang two songs by Alma Mahler. The choir director (who runs this program) said I should look into singing some of them. I told him I had bought a book of songs by Fanny Mendelssohn but had not sung any of them; I said I couldn't find anything suitable for church. Well, maybe now with the Mahler, the Mendelssohn, and the anthology I bought of spirituals/art songs by Florence Price I can put together a recital of songs by women composers. Or maybe just add a set to my nursing home recital program. If I want to do a whole program of songs by women I would have to find an appropriate venue and nothing comes to mind.
First the bitter (because I'm writing about events in chronological order).
Sunday afternoon I went to an anniversary service for my church's former pastor (the tall, drop dead gorgeous blonde) at her new church, and guess who was singing? Little Miss. I was in shock. I had expected maybe a soloist from my pastor's new church, or their choir, but no, there was Little Miss and her violinist boyfriend (whom I always had a great relationship with; he used to accompany me for solos with violin, like the Bach "Laudamus te").
I guess Pastor had invited them. And I suppose one reason was that she got a "twofer".
In all honesty, I can't say that I was upset that she didn't ask me, why should she.
I think I was upset because Little Miss represents everything I wish I'd had, wish I had, wish I'd done, and wish I'd been (or still was). First of all she's young and on an upward trajectory. She has been performing (not singing classical music, but singing) since she was in middle school. She's been disciplined, admired, curated, what you will, since then. Of course she put in the work. I will never say she got something for nothing. But it's often a feedback loop. You do well, people encourage you, you do better. You make friends and colleagues among those who do what you do, and that follows you into the future.
Now if you were to ask me if I think Little Miss will have a brilliant career and the world's greatest opera houses, I will probably say no. She is a generic lyric soprano. Where she is unusual, is/was in exhibiting such technical vocal perfection at such a young age. She sang the soprano solo in the Brahms Requiem five years ago, at the age of 20, in a totally flawless way, just sitting in a choir chair in a pair of jeans and tossing it off. She belts, she acts, she sings musical theater, she sings contemporary music. Probably if the New York City Opera were like it had been in the 60s, she could probably land a spot there. She has a "feel" for new music and opera in English that's a little bit like musical theater. And of course she has mentors. A famous voice teacher from a famous conservatory, a CV containing master classes and summer programs, and her boyfriend, who was a child prodigy with his own Wikipedia page and who has his finger in every possible kind of musical and theatrical pie.
Now I need to add here, as I have said before, that Little Miss is neither conceited nor Prima Donna-ish. She just is. She excels, she enjoys it, people gush, and she enjoys that, in a sort of innocent childlike way.
At the celebration on Sunday when I went to the party afterwards to give my regards to Pastor, I ran into Boyfriend and we chatted and then he mentioned that Little Miss was there and wanted to say "hello". So I did. I'm sure she was genuinely happy to see me.
So I ended up in a funk for the next day. There aren't enough hours in the day for me to give myself the kind of polish you get in a conservatory when you spend 8 years there and don't have anything else to worry about.
So on to the next thing. The Sweet. We had our last rehearsal for our recital and it went well. Really the only difficult thing I have to sing is the Bolena duet and it is going well. Not to jinx myself, but these days I seem to be able to confidently hold onto a high A for 8 counts without choking or panicking as easily as I used to be able to hold onto an F.
And when I was on my way to rehearsal yesterday, I got an email from a woman from another senior residence about doing a 30 minute demo recital. I had contacted her a while ago about doing a concert of some kind and she said she was a bit leery because the last time she had elicited feedback from the residents they had told her that they wanted more "nonclassical" music. So she said a compromise would be that I would do a half hour demo recital and she would ask for feedback. So I can have fun deciding what to sing (and I will ask my teacher if he wants to join me).
And I will order an anthology of songs by Alma Mahler. Monday night I went to the monthly free chamber music concert at my church (they bring in up and comings; sadly, nothing for the homegrown talent) and a woman sang two songs by Alma Mahler. The choir director (who runs this program) said I should look into singing some of them. I told him I had bought a book of songs by Fanny Mendelssohn but had not sung any of them; I said I couldn't find anything suitable for church. Well, maybe now with the Mahler, the Mendelssohn, and the anthology I bought of spirituals/art songs by Florence Price I can put together a recital of songs by women composers. Or maybe just add a set to my nursing home recital program. If I want to do a whole program of songs by women I would have to find an appropriate venue and nothing comes to mind.
Sunday, September 30, 2018
The Pursuit of Excellence
At first glance this post will seem to diverge from the topic of the day, but there is a connection. As a late-starting classical singer who, no matter how hard I work, no matter how well I now sing, will never ever be as polished as someone who spent 8 years at a conservatory as a vocal performance major, this article really hit home. I am probably not what he means by a true amateur or a hobbyist. I sing well, well enough to give solo recitals, sometimes with other people, at nursing homes and senior centers, and to sing featured solos at church services, but anyone who has spent years at a conservatory and who mingles in those circles, can tell that I am not the real deal. I still have rough spots in my singing technique (far fewer with each passing year, and I am 68 now), I am not 100% musically literate, my language pronunciation is not always perfect, and I often look awkward on stage (not very awkward; I am good at connecting with audiences, but I am unsure how to enter and exit, bow, and keep my arms still if I think doing this or that will help my singing).
The author wrote "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Which is what I have been saying all along.
What is so sad, is that, with performing arts at least (I think sports are different, maybe) there is no place for people like me. There are all sorts of choruses, but no performance groups that are simply for older avocational performers who may need a little polishing. Or if there were one, it would, like all the "amateur" opera groups, be overrun with out of work professionals and young people looking to get a leg up. So what I'm saying is there are not performance groups for people like me that have a way of keeping certain types of people out.
And then there's the vitriol. Which is one reason I have stopped participating in singer discussion groups. I find my blood pressure is a lot lower if I stick to groups that talk about pets, British tv, and literature. If I want to know about singing I can talk to my voice teacher, my choir directors, or my accompanists. Until I made contact with these groups I had no idea that by referring to myself as an "opera singer" (well yes, that's what I've trained to sing and that is the kind of music I do sing even if it's just in a nursing home) I was besmirching an art form, leading the public astray, and doing damage to OPERA as a cause to be promoted. I actually find that hard to believe. If anything could turn people off opera as an art form it's the mud-slinging these people get involved in, with each other and at people they deem "their inferiors".
To the second part of this post, it seems that it doesn't link up with the horrors of this week, but in a way it does. I read an article in the Times a few days ago that spoke of the world that Kavanaugh and Blasey Ford grew up in: unrealistically high expectations, high achievement, and escaping from the pressure with drunken debauchery.
Some of that was familiar territory to me, some not. My father was a professor and most of my parent's friends were doctors, academics, and school principals. Their sons were expected to be doctors. Their daughters were expected to be what I call "Jane Austen" girls. Do well in school, be smart, but not smarter than the boys, and stick to the arts: literature, painting, playing a musical instrument, singing a little, taking some ballet classes. Get into a good college so that you can meet the right kind of husband. My generation rebelled, but differently. First and foremost we rebelled by rejecting achievement. Turn on, tune in, and drop out. And for many of us, we stayed "dropped out" long after we discontinued drug or alcohol abuse.
The parties described by Blasey Ford and others, though, are quite different from the ones I attended (and I was a little older). Yes, alcohol flowed freely, drugs were readily available, and there was lots of meaningless casual sex, but nothing was ever violent. Was that because we were the "free love" generation? The men who were there were ones who had found a way to avoid going to Vietnam, who hated war, who, yes, wanted lots of women to be available and didn't want to be tied down, but I don't remember anyone forcing himself on me or anyone else. We were all in it together. Looking back I would call it "quasi-consensual" sex. Things I and other women wouldn't have done it we'd been sober, but I don't remember anyone assaulting or pursuing me if I said "NO", which of course I was more likely to do if I was sober. Love was free then.
Not long after that I became a Lesbian Separatist and we encouraged each other to observe the "Pence rule" if we had to venture beyond the bounds of our sect (mainly this meant at work). Don't consume alcohol at mixed parties (many of us were twelve steppers anyhow). Don't go for a meal alone with a man. Dress modestly. If you work in an office with straight men and it's too conservative for pants suits, make sure your skirt comes below your knees. Don't smile excessively. Be businesslike and matter of fact. Apparently that (and the fact that I worked in an industry that was predominately female) stood me in good stead.
If I am bitter about anything from those days, it is not that I got myself into sleazy situations when I had had too much to drink (or more) but all the waste. Time and energy I could have spent on my talent. Yes, "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Those people must have been around in 1968 or in 1971. Why didn't I take my cue from them?
The author wrote "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Which is what I have been saying all along.
What is so sad, is that, with performing arts at least (I think sports are different, maybe) there is no place for people like me. There are all sorts of choruses, but no performance groups that are simply for older avocational performers who may need a little polishing. Or if there were one, it would, like all the "amateur" opera groups, be overrun with out of work professionals and young people looking to get a leg up. So what I'm saying is there are not performance groups for people like me that have a way of keeping certain types of people out.
And then there's the vitriol. Which is one reason I have stopped participating in singer discussion groups. I find my blood pressure is a lot lower if I stick to groups that talk about pets, British tv, and literature. If I want to know about singing I can talk to my voice teacher, my choir directors, or my accompanists. Until I made contact with these groups I had no idea that by referring to myself as an "opera singer" (well yes, that's what I've trained to sing and that is the kind of music I do sing even if it's just in a nursing home) I was besmirching an art form, leading the public astray, and doing damage to OPERA as a cause to be promoted. I actually find that hard to believe. If anything could turn people off opera as an art form it's the mud-slinging these people get involved in, with each other and at people they deem "their inferiors".
To the second part of this post, it seems that it doesn't link up with the horrors of this week, but in a way it does. I read an article in the Times a few days ago that spoke of the world that Kavanaugh and Blasey Ford grew up in: unrealistically high expectations, high achievement, and escaping from the pressure with drunken debauchery.
Some of that was familiar territory to me, some not. My father was a professor and most of my parent's friends were doctors, academics, and school principals. Their sons were expected to be doctors. Their daughters were expected to be what I call "Jane Austen" girls. Do well in school, be smart, but not smarter than the boys, and stick to the arts: literature, painting, playing a musical instrument, singing a little, taking some ballet classes. Get into a good college so that you can meet the right kind of husband. My generation rebelled, but differently. First and foremost we rebelled by rejecting achievement. Turn on, tune in, and drop out. And for many of us, we stayed "dropped out" long after we discontinued drug or alcohol abuse.
The parties described by Blasey Ford and others, though, are quite different from the ones I attended (and I was a little older). Yes, alcohol flowed freely, drugs were readily available, and there was lots of meaningless casual sex, but nothing was ever violent. Was that because we were the "free love" generation? The men who were there were ones who had found a way to avoid going to Vietnam, who hated war, who, yes, wanted lots of women to be available and didn't want to be tied down, but I don't remember anyone forcing himself on me or anyone else. We were all in it together. Looking back I would call it "quasi-consensual" sex. Things I and other women wouldn't have done it we'd been sober, but I don't remember anyone assaulting or pursuing me if I said "NO", which of course I was more likely to do if I was sober. Love was free then.
Not long after that I became a Lesbian Separatist and we encouraged each other to observe the "Pence rule" if we had to venture beyond the bounds of our sect (mainly this meant at work). Don't consume alcohol at mixed parties (many of us were twelve steppers anyhow). Don't go for a meal alone with a man. Dress modestly. If you work in an office with straight men and it's too conservative for pants suits, make sure your skirt comes below your knees. Don't smile excessively. Be businesslike and matter of fact. Apparently that (and the fact that I worked in an industry that was predominately female) stood me in good stead.
If I am bitter about anything from those days, it is not that I got myself into sleazy situations when I had had too much to drink (or more) but all the waste. Time and energy I could have spent on my talent. Yes, "Especially when it comes to physical pursuits, but also with many other endeavors, most of us will be truly excellent only at whatever we started doing in our teens." Those people must have been around in 1968 or in 1971. Why didn't I take my cue from them?
Friday, September 14, 2018
Maturity and Serenity
Last week at our first choir rehearsal of the year, with no notice, we were told that we were going to be singing the Randall Thompson "Alleluia" for the first Sunday we were back. So ok. I have sung that before. The last time I (around 6 years ago) I could see how my technique had improved since the first time we sang it (10 years ago - at the choir director's wedding), and now it has improved even more. The progression with the pianissimo High A is not difficult, and as for the "stringendo" section (with two high As) I can handle that if I "tacet" for a few bars right before the progression going up to the A. This is, of course, something that singers customarily do in Bel Canto aria endings, so I am not apologizing for it.
Of course having that piece of music "sprung" on me was annoying. I needed to map it out and sing it into my voice at least once.
I also felt very guilty not singing the alto part because there seem to be fewer and fewer altos these days. It makes sense because most alto parts are pretty thankless to sing even if you are a mezzo. Actually the Alleluia is one of the exceptions. It sits in the middle of the staff, mostly, with a few low notes here and there. But again, the soprano part is not high overall. It has a very wide range, that's all, certainly no wider than the average bel canto aria I would be singing. The only problem is there is a section that goes on with no break, which would be unlikely to happen in an aria.
Yesterday when I got to rehearsal the choir director asked me if I was sure I wanted to sing the soprano part and I said yes. If he had told me to sing the alto part (which I don't know) I would of course have done it. He just said he didn't want me to feel uncomfortable trying to blend, and I said I didn't. I said my voice had gotten higher, certainly in the past few years. Actually what has happened is that I have extended my range by two notes on the top and the bottom but my "sweet spot" has probably moved up at least two whole notes. I asked the choir director didn't he notice that my voice had gotten higher and he said well, he did notice I had more control on notes like E, F, and G, which of course is true. Then I showed him the spot I had marked as "tacet". I also asked him if the dramatic soprano who has recently joined the church would be singing and he said no. I told him any time she is singing of course I will sing alto because it would make no sense to have two big voices on the same part. The altos all have small voices although three of them have voices that are very "pretty". And (this was both sweet and workmanlike) the choir director had marked his copy of the stringendo section with the note "strenuous for the sopranos; don't overrehearse!" which I told him I loved.
The reason for this post, though, is that I can now see how much more confidence I have, not just vocally, but conversationally. I no longer feel defensive. Part of that is that a number of the "sour notes" are no longer in the mix. There was the other mezzo who sang soprano who was very grumpy and disagreeable and was always trying to boss me around (she has since given up singing for another career and actually complimented me on Good Friday on my solo). There was the minister's wife (they have since retired and moved) with a small high voice who was always complaining to me and the choir director that I was singing too loud. And of course Little Miss is gone. If you are a new reader, Little Miss was a 20something conservatory student (she has since graduated and is an adjunct professor at a small college) who sang flawlessly, even at 20, and got endless praise and endless solo bits embedded in choir pieces, not to mention endless flogging of her various recitals by the choir director. It was because of all that that I had a meltdown about 5 years ago, which was not my finest hour; on the other hand after that the choir director really changed his behavior and there has been no one since who has elicited that kind of oohing and ahing either from him or anyone else. The new dramatic soprano is quite modest as is the one other trained lyric soprano who occasionally joins us.
So we will see what Sunday will bring. I have a vocal strategy, so I won't be felled by nerves. I will go home early Saturday, not talk much (not hard to do; when I am with my partner I grocery shop and we watch tv), go to bed early (I seem to be asleep before 11 these days no matter what), wake up and eat a good breakfast, bring a protein bar (if my energy flags after the morning rehearsal) and keep pretty much stumm during the service until it's time for the anthem. The piece builds, so the piece itself can be my warmup.
Of course having that piece of music "sprung" on me was annoying. I needed to map it out and sing it into my voice at least once.
I also felt very guilty not singing the alto part because there seem to be fewer and fewer altos these days. It makes sense because most alto parts are pretty thankless to sing even if you are a mezzo. Actually the Alleluia is one of the exceptions. It sits in the middle of the staff, mostly, with a few low notes here and there. But again, the soprano part is not high overall. It has a very wide range, that's all, certainly no wider than the average bel canto aria I would be singing. The only problem is there is a section that goes on with no break, which would be unlikely to happen in an aria.
Yesterday when I got to rehearsal the choir director asked me if I was sure I wanted to sing the soprano part and I said yes. If he had told me to sing the alto part (which I don't know) I would of course have done it. He just said he didn't want me to feel uncomfortable trying to blend, and I said I didn't. I said my voice had gotten higher, certainly in the past few years. Actually what has happened is that I have extended my range by two notes on the top and the bottom but my "sweet spot" has probably moved up at least two whole notes. I asked the choir director didn't he notice that my voice had gotten higher and he said well, he did notice I had more control on notes like E, F, and G, which of course is true. Then I showed him the spot I had marked as "tacet". I also asked him if the dramatic soprano who has recently joined the church would be singing and he said no. I told him any time she is singing of course I will sing alto because it would make no sense to have two big voices on the same part. The altos all have small voices although three of them have voices that are very "pretty". And (this was both sweet and workmanlike) the choir director had marked his copy of the stringendo section with the note "strenuous for the sopranos; don't overrehearse!" which I told him I loved.
The reason for this post, though, is that I can now see how much more confidence I have, not just vocally, but conversationally. I no longer feel defensive. Part of that is that a number of the "sour notes" are no longer in the mix. There was the other mezzo who sang soprano who was very grumpy and disagreeable and was always trying to boss me around (she has since given up singing for another career and actually complimented me on Good Friday on my solo). There was the minister's wife (they have since retired and moved) with a small high voice who was always complaining to me and the choir director that I was singing too loud. And of course Little Miss is gone. If you are a new reader, Little Miss was a 20something conservatory student (she has since graduated and is an adjunct professor at a small college) who sang flawlessly, even at 20, and got endless praise and endless solo bits embedded in choir pieces, not to mention endless flogging of her various recitals by the choir director. It was because of all that that I had a meltdown about 5 years ago, which was not my finest hour; on the other hand after that the choir director really changed his behavior and there has been no one since who has elicited that kind of oohing and ahing either from him or anyone else. The new dramatic soprano is quite modest as is the one other trained lyric soprano who occasionally joins us.
So we will see what Sunday will bring. I have a vocal strategy, so I won't be felled by nerves. I will go home early Saturday, not talk much (not hard to do; when I am with my partner I grocery shop and we watch tv), go to bed early (I seem to be asleep before 11 these days no matter what), wake up and eat a good breakfast, bring a protein bar (if my energy flags after the morning rehearsal) and keep pretty much stumm during the service until it's time for the anthem. The piece builds, so the piece itself can be my warmup.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
A Family Quarrel
The older I get, the more of a loss it feels that I don't have a family. Families seem to be something that most people take for granted; sort of like arms or teeth. Some people like theirs, some don't. But most people seem to have some kind of "next of kin" who will step up to the plate, however begrudgingly, if something is needed. It might involve a cross-continental move (usually on the part of the needful - I am thinking of a friend dying of cancer who moved in with her sister in the MidWest) but someone is there.
Once my partner became non compos, one day it dawned on me that I am no longer anyone's responsibility or problem. I have no "in case of emergency please notify". I can't think of anyone who would consider it their obligation to cancel their plans because I was in the hospital with, say, a concussion. Yes, I have an attorney, a physician, a psychotherapist, and a pastor. I have friends but they are all busy (we squeeze each other in once a month for an outing).
All this is a prelude to my writing about my first cousin. I do have a first cousin, who lives in New York (Brooklyn?), has a wife, and has a son (who is probably at college or beyond now). But he cares less about me than a stranger on the street would, and I would trust him less than I would trust that stranger to make a life or death decision for me.
When I was growing up my family consisted of my parents, my mother's parents, my mother's sister (my aunt), her husband, and their son (the cousin). At some point my mother and her sister had a falling out. I can't be sure over what, but it had something to do that even though my aunt and uncle published a communist-leaning magazine and went to all sorts of meetings and conferences, my uncle suddenly had developed a passion for antiques and was buying and selling them, making money hand over fist, which included bilking people by telling them that what they had was worth very little when in fact this was a lie. All he suddenly wanted to talk about was money. When he wasn't bragging about his Chippendale chairs, my aunt was on a soapbox exhorting my mother not to vote (I think she was talking about the fact that my mother was going to vote for Jimmy Carter in the 1980 election, so I would have been 30.)
After that it was downhill all the way. My mother made a decision not to have anything to do with her sister. Although there was a temporary thaw when my grandparents suddenly needed care (see my opening paragraphs). My mother handled the appointments and paperwork, her sister handled the money. The last and final quarrel they had ('Tis the final conflict LOL!) was over the fact that my aunt sold a lot of my grandparents' possessions and offered to divide up the proceeds with my mother without having asked my mother first if she wanted anything as a memento.
So this brings me to the cousin (my "next of kin" whom I will do anything to avoid listing on any form which might spell the difference between life and death for me, like a health care proxy). Why he decided to continue the quarrel on to the next generation, I have no idea. I tried to make contact a few times. When he got a big promotion. When he and his wife had a baby. No reply. About a year after this my aunt had a stroke and was put in a nursing home. My mother actually went to visit her once a week. She was appalled at how little care the family (uncle, cousin, wife) were trying to obtain for her. All they talked about was how to get her on Medicaid without losing the house. I came once and took pictures of my cousin and his family (this was back in the days of old fashioned film cameras). I sent him the pictures. I got no reply. Not shortly thereafter my mother stopped visiting her sister because there had been a two week period when she had not visited because she had been ill. Uncle never called to ask how she was.
I remember having a talk with my mother about all this (more than one talk, I am sure) about why we couldn't just have a family that hated each other but kept in touch on special occasions, like other people. She said she thought things might have been different if my cousin's wife had had any social skills, but that she did not. A friend, recently, also mentioned this. She said often women will reach out to family and try to patch up quarrels (for example the loathesome LC has stopped speaking to one of her sons but she is still on good terms with his wife). The wife did once or twice reach out to my mother, always tentatively and fearfully, according to my mother, so she might have been afraid of my mother. But why ignore me? Wasn't she curious? Any one with a rudimentary knowledge of psychology should know that a 90 year old mother and her 55 year old daughter are not one flesh!
But the family quarrel is not what prompted me to write this blog post. It's an old story. What prompted me to write was that last night, just because, I googled the name of my cousin's wife. I knew she was some sort of academic who wrote about feminism, and that she had co-authored several academic-type articles (I never read any of them). Well! It turns out that she has written four or five books (one coming out next year) on fascinating subjects ranging from criminology to the rise and fall of feminism. My cousin is a criminologist who has bounced back and forth between academia, government, and the world of foundations. He even got a George Soros grant once.
So this just again emphasizes how tiny a fish I am in a world that seems to be overwhelmingly populated by those who are much larger.
I'm good at this and I'm good at that and I sing and I write and I know about all sorts of things but I am still in the 10% of my social acquaintance, family, and childhood friends and schoolmates who has no flashy academic credentials, bylines, or serious theater or music work in my past.
I was just starting to make some headway learning how to be grateful for my little life, and now this.
What am I lacking? I have brains and various talents.
As I said not long ago, if I can't do well, I guess I have to settle for doing good.
Once my partner became non compos, one day it dawned on me that I am no longer anyone's responsibility or problem. I have no "in case of emergency please notify". I can't think of anyone who would consider it their obligation to cancel their plans because I was in the hospital with, say, a concussion. Yes, I have an attorney, a physician, a psychotherapist, and a pastor. I have friends but they are all busy (we squeeze each other in once a month for an outing).
All this is a prelude to my writing about my first cousin. I do have a first cousin, who lives in New York (Brooklyn?), has a wife, and has a son (who is probably at college or beyond now). But he cares less about me than a stranger on the street would, and I would trust him less than I would trust that stranger to make a life or death decision for me.
When I was growing up my family consisted of my parents, my mother's parents, my mother's sister (my aunt), her husband, and their son (the cousin). At some point my mother and her sister had a falling out. I can't be sure over what, but it had something to do that even though my aunt and uncle published a communist-leaning magazine and went to all sorts of meetings and conferences, my uncle suddenly had developed a passion for antiques and was buying and selling them, making money hand over fist, which included bilking people by telling them that what they had was worth very little when in fact this was a lie. All he suddenly wanted to talk about was money. When he wasn't bragging about his Chippendale chairs, my aunt was on a soapbox exhorting my mother not to vote (I think she was talking about the fact that my mother was going to vote for Jimmy Carter in the 1980 election, so I would have been 30.)
After that it was downhill all the way. My mother made a decision not to have anything to do with her sister. Although there was a temporary thaw when my grandparents suddenly needed care (see my opening paragraphs). My mother handled the appointments and paperwork, her sister handled the money. The last and final quarrel they had ('Tis the final conflict LOL!) was over the fact that my aunt sold a lot of my grandparents' possessions and offered to divide up the proceeds with my mother without having asked my mother first if she wanted anything as a memento.
So this brings me to the cousin (my "next of kin" whom I will do anything to avoid listing on any form which might spell the difference between life and death for me, like a health care proxy). Why he decided to continue the quarrel on to the next generation, I have no idea. I tried to make contact a few times. When he got a big promotion. When he and his wife had a baby. No reply. About a year after this my aunt had a stroke and was put in a nursing home. My mother actually went to visit her once a week. She was appalled at how little care the family (uncle, cousin, wife) were trying to obtain for her. All they talked about was how to get her on Medicaid without losing the house. I came once and took pictures of my cousin and his family (this was back in the days of old fashioned film cameras). I sent him the pictures. I got no reply. Not shortly thereafter my mother stopped visiting her sister because there had been a two week period when she had not visited because she had been ill. Uncle never called to ask how she was.
I remember having a talk with my mother about all this (more than one talk, I am sure) about why we couldn't just have a family that hated each other but kept in touch on special occasions, like other people. She said she thought things might have been different if my cousin's wife had had any social skills, but that she did not. A friend, recently, also mentioned this. She said often women will reach out to family and try to patch up quarrels (for example the loathesome LC has stopped speaking to one of her sons but she is still on good terms with his wife). The wife did once or twice reach out to my mother, always tentatively and fearfully, according to my mother, so she might have been afraid of my mother. But why ignore me? Wasn't she curious? Any one with a rudimentary knowledge of psychology should know that a 90 year old mother and her 55 year old daughter are not one flesh!
But the family quarrel is not what prompted me to write this blog post. It's an old story. What prompted me to write was that last night, just because, I googled the name of my cousin's wife. I knew she was some sort of academic who wrote about feminism, and that she had co-authored several academic-type articles (I never read any of them). Well! It turns out that she has written four or five books (one coming out next year) on fascinating subjects ranging from criminology to the rise and fall of feminism. My cousin is a criminologist who has bounced back and forth between academia, government, and the world of foundations. He even got a George Soros grant once.
So this just again emphasizes how tiny a fish I am in a world that seems to be overwhelmingly populated by those who are much larger.
I'm good at this and I'm good at that and I sing and I write and I know about all sorts of things but I am still in the 10% of my social acquaintance, family, and childhood friends and schoolmates who has no flashy academic credentials, bylines, or serious theater or music work in my past.
I was just starting to make some headway learning how to be grateful for my little life, and now this.
What am I lacking? I have brains and various talents.
As I said not long ago, if I can't do well, I guess I have to settle for doing good.
Friday, August 10, 2018
Plans for the Fall and Plans for the Future
I now have two concerts planned for the Fall. The first is in late October and will be at the nursing home with the large theater, where I have already sung twice. So far this has been my favorite place to sing because it is large enough to invite guests and we usually get a large audience.
The second is in early November at a facility on the Upper East Side, near Sotheby's, where I have never sung. It apparently only has an upright piano but I was told that there would be room to invite guests. I will go take a look at the room some time in October.
What will be on the program is not definite yet. My teacher had some minor surgery so I have not wanted to bother him about the dates. I made the November date definite because as I have never sung there, I can do my solo recital, if necessary with piano solos in between the sets.
If my teacher is available and in good health, we will be singing two operatic duets, the one from Anna Bolena and the one from Samson et Dalila, and then we will each sing an aria and about three lighter pieces (mine would be "Vanilla Ice Cream", "Let Me Call You Sweetheart", and "Home Sweet Home"). If he is not available (or only feels up for singing a few musical theater songs) I will do the solo recital but will swap out "Tanti Affetti" for "Bel Raggio Lusinghier" from Semiramide (it's going well so far) and swap out "Jubal's Lyre", which I've been struggling with, for Prince Orlofsky's welcome aria which is the perfect thing to start with and would make a nice pair with the "Drinking Song".
As for plans for the future, I finally think that I feel things falling into place in a way that makes me feel that my life has meaning and holds together. I still hate what I do for a living, but it is the most convenient way for me to make an adequate amount of money working the hours I want or need to work any given week. At the age of 68 I have accepted that I will never be willing (yes, I have to use that word) to put in the superhuman amount of work (and expense) necessary to train for a career that I would love. I hate academics, for one thing. This took me over 60 years to realize, but yes. I am smart, have a high IQ, have always done well on standardized tests (the kind that require that you think fast on your feet), and love to read fiction; I'm well versed in current events and am "cultured" (and not just in my own area of classical music), but I simply don't have the mental fortitude to plow through "academic blather". I always wondered if I had ADHD, which I very well might. Coffee calms me down, for example. In any event, I want to spend my golden years out and about. I spend enough time cooped up with articles to edit and that's enough.
Harder and sadder than giving up the idea of a "career", is realizing that I will never be able to sing leading roles with any of the "amateur" opera groups around here, not even the most humble (the one where people sing through an opera from books in someone' living room). Producing something similar involves too much administrative work (and rejection by people who get better offers and do a bunk, not to mention that they never invite me to do anything), so I have settled for solo recitals in nursing homes. I have already written at length about that, and I have made a decision to love it, not see it as "second best". I love working with the elderly (I think I'm better at that than working with children although I want to continue what I'm doing with children to broaden my life; I don't have any children who might have children or any siblings who might have children and grandchildren.)
And I have decided that when my Angel gets her wings, if I am still mobile and of sound mind, I would like to work with seniors with dementia. There are all sorts of things I can do with them, including broadening out from doing concerts (which I will still be doing if I am in good voice and good health) to singing their favorite songs with and for them at their bedsides. This is a long-term plan, and not one I want to delve too deeply into, because right now I have my Angel and can do these things with her, but it is a assurance to me that life will go on. I don't think I would need academic credentials to do this as a volunteer; I'm sure my life experience with my partner and my musical background would be enough.
So this will be a life. Not a boastworthy Upper West Side life, but a good one.
The second is in early November at a facility on the Upper East Side, near Sotheby's, where I have never sung. It apparently only has an upright piano but I was told that there would be room to invite guests. I will go take a look at the room some time in October.
What will be on the program is not definite yet. My teacher had some minor surgery so I have not wanted to bother him about the dates. I made the November date definite because as I have never sung there, I can do my solo recital, if necessary with piano solos in between the sets.
If my teacher is available and in good health, we will be singing two operatic duets, the one from Anna Bolena and the one from Samson et Dalila, and then we will each sing an aria and about three lighter pieces (mine would be "Vanilla Ice Cream", "Let Me Call You Sweetheart", and "Home Sweet Home"). If he is not available (or only feels up for singing a few musical theater songs) I will do the solo recital but will swap out "Tanti Affetti" for "Bel Raggio Lusinghier" from Semiramide (it's going well so far) and swap out "Jubal's Lyre", which I've been struggling with, for Prince Orlofsky's welcome aria which is the perfect thing to start with and would make a nice pair with the "Drinking Song".
As for plans for the future, I finally think that I feel things falling into place in a way that makes me feel that my life has meaning and holds together. I still hate what I do for a living, but it is the most convenient way for me to make an adequate amount of money working the hours I want or need to work any given week. At the age of 68 I have accepted that I will never be willing (yes, I have to use that word) to put in the superhuman amount of work (and expense) necessary to train for a career that I would love. I hate academics, for one thing. This took me over 60 years to realize, but yes. I am smart, have a high IQ, have always done well on standardized tests (the kind that require that you think fast on your feet), and love to read fiction; I'm well versed in current events and am "cultured" (and not just in my own area of classical music), but I simply don't have the mental fortitude to plow through "academic blather". I always wondered if I had ADHD, which I very well might. Coffee calms me down, for example. In any event, I want to spend my golden years out and about. I spend enough time cooped up with articles to edit and that's enough.
Harder and sadder than giving up the idea of a "career", is realizing that I will never be able to sing leading roles with any of the "amateur" opera groups around here, not even the most humble (the one where people sing through an opera from books in someone' living room). Producing something similar involves too much administrative work (and rejection by people who get better offers and do a bunk, not to mention that they never invite me to do anything), so I have settled for solo recitals in nursing homes. I have already written at length about that, and I have made a decision to love it, not see it as "second best". I love working with the elderly (I think I'm better at that than working with children although I want to continue what I'm doing with children to broaden my life; I don't have any children who might have children or any siblings who might have children and grandchildren.)
And I have decided that when my Angel gets her wings, if I am still mobile and of sound mind, I would like to work with seniors with dementia. There are all sorts of things I can do with them, including broadening out from doing concerts (which I will still be doing if I am in good voice and good health) to singing their favorite songs with and for them at their bedsides. This is a long-term plan, and not one I want to delve too deeply into, because right now I have my Angel and can do these things with her, but it is a assurance to me that life will go on. I don't think I would need academic credentials to do this as a volunteer; I'm sure my life experience with my partner and my musical background would be enough.
So this will be a life. Not a boastworthy Upper West Side life, but a good one.
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Maytime Take 2 and "Aging Artfully"
Last night I watched Maytime again. My sense of it was quite different from my sense of it four years ago. First, I realized how dated some of it was. The girl's young fiance makes her choose between going to New York to study voice and try to have a career, and marrying him. That wouldn't happen today, certainly not among Millennials of a certain socioeconomic class. The girl would go to New York, launch her career, then "pair off" with someone she might want to marry with the understanding that the marriage would be a partnership in which instance by instance, they negotiated whose career was more important (that year, that month). Even after children arrived.
The first time I realized that we were into new territory in that regard was when a friend's daughter (who was born in 1970, so she's more Gen X) decided to go to graduate school in a different city from where her fiance was living, which was where, eventually, they planned to settle. That would have been unheard of in my day. If you were lucky enough to "nail" a partner that you were madly in love with, everything else just sort of fell by the wayside if necessary. I was thinking, for example, of my giving up singing at 30. I mean there were a myriad factors, most notably that I wasn't really willing to put in the work to take care of my instrument (although by the end I was singing very well from a technical standpoint). But in addition to needing to earn a living and get a college degree in my off hours (getting a degree in music never occurred to me; my one exposure to music theory bored me to tears) and the fact that "political dykes" didn't "invest themselves in a patriarchal art form like opera", there was the relationship. My partner would never have countenanced my doing anything that took me away from her for extended periods. In fact, I remember one of our ugliest quarrels (during the 20 years of our time together that I recall as "happy") took place when, while I was enrolled in college, taking a course called "Women in the Law", I got a chance to go to a conference on Women in the Law (in Detroit of all places) over a weekend. She kicked and screamed and yelled and we didn't speak to each other for the days leading up to my departure. I think the thaw broke when I got back but I never did anything similar again unless it was something required by work.
And getting back to Maytime, of course no doubt today, the older teacher/mentor's attraction to his pupil and his request that she marry him (the subject comes up when she tells him how much he has done for her and asks what she can do in return) would be loosely categorized under the heading of "sexual harrassment" (and "marry" probably wouldn't have been the word used, although it might have been; he seemed more interested in "possessing" her than in a roll in the hay).
On another subject, yesterday I went to a free conference called "Aging Artfully". It was a series of lectures and panel discussions aimed at showing seniors how engaging with the arts (as a participant, not a passive viewer or listener) can keep a person young and engaged. I didn't learn much there that would help me with my quest for venues to produce concerts in, but there was much that I identified with: the need to be seen, how being "seen" makes you an artist, the need to feel safe being "seen", the need to feel grounded, the need to feel safe but that "unfamiliar" and "unsafe" are not synonyms (a big one for me), and how listening to music can calm people with dementia.
Actually, I probably learned more techniques that I can use with my partner, many of which I already use: playing music for her on Youtube, showing her paintings and photographs on my iPad, looking through her old art books.
And they addressed ageism. One man mentioned that people (including older adults!) make stupid and disparaging jokes about "getting old" and "old people" of a sort that no one (at least no civilized person who moves in the circles we move in) would make about a racial or ethnic group.
One disappointment. I saw clips of a number of senior choruses but no performance classes (free or low fee) for seniors. That is what I would be most interested in. Coaching for solo performers ending in a concert (even just for each other and our friends).
The first time I realized that we were into new territory in that regard was when a friend's daughter (who was born in 1970, so she's more Gen X) decided to go to graduate school in a different city from where her fiance was living, which was where, eventually, they planned to settle. That would have been unheard of in my day. If you were lucky enough to "nail" a partner that you were madly in love with, everything else just sort of fell by the wayside if necessary. I was thinking, for example, of my giving up singing at 30. I mean there were a myriad factors, most notably that I wasn't really willing to put in the work to take care of my instrument (although by the end I was singing very well from a technical standpoint). But in addition to needing to earn a living and get a college degree in my off hours (getting a degree in music never occurred to me; my one exposure to music theory bored me to tears) and the fact that "political dykes" didn't "invest themselves in a patriarchal art form like opera", there was the relationship. My partner would never have countenanced my doing anything that took me away from her for extended periods. In fact, I remember one of our ugliest quarrels (during the 20 years of our time together that I recall as "happy") took place when, while I was enrolled in college, taking a course called "Women in the Law", I got a chance to go to a conference on Women in the Law (in Detroit of all places) over a weekend. She kicked and screamed and yelled and we didn't speak to each other for the days leading up to my departure. I think the thaw broke when I got back but I never did anything similar again unless it was something required by work.
And getting back to Maytime, of course no doubt today, the older teacher/mentor's attraction to his pupil and his request that she marry him (the subject comes up when she tells him how much he has done for her and asks what she can do in return) would be loosely categorized under the heading of "sexual harrassment" (and "marry" probably wouldn't have been the word used, although it might have been; he seemed more interested in "possessing" her than in a roll in the hay).
On another subject, yesterday I went to a free conference called "Aging Artfully". It was a series of lectures and panel discussions aimed at showing seniors how engaging with the arts (as a participant, not a passive viewer or listener) can keep a person young and engaged. I didn't learn much there that would help me with my quest for venues to produce concerts in, but there was much that I identified with: the need to be seen, how being "seen" makes you an artist, the need to feel safe being "seen", the need to feel grounded, the need to feel safe but that "unfamiliar" and "unsafe" are not synonyms (a big one for me), and how listening to music can calm people with dementia.
Actually, I probably learned more techniques that I can use with my partner, many of which I already use: playing music for her on Youtube, showing her paintings and photographs on my iPad, looking through her old art books.
And they addressed ageism. One man mentioned that people (including older adults!) make stupid and disparaging jokes about "getting old" and "old people" of a sort that no one (at least no civilized person who moves in the circles we move in) would make about a racial or ethnic group.
One disappointment. I saw clips of a number of senior choruses but no performance classes (free or low fee) for seniors. That is what I would be most interested in. Coaching for solo performers ending in a concert (even just for each other and our friends).
Wednesday, August 8, 2018
Throwback Wednesday
I rarely revisit old posts, unless they are "topical" (like the ones I wrote on same-sex marriage, sexism, Trump voters, and the UU church), but I saw that the movie Maytime is on tonight (at 8 pm, so I will definitely watch). I remembered that quite some time ago (this is from 2012) I had written something about it, so here it is.
I still feel a lot of these things, but I have had to let them go. (I'm also astounded that there was a time, not that long ago, when I was awake to watch a movie after 11.)
Here is the link to that old post. Enjoy.
I still feel a lot of these things, but I have had to let them go. (I'm also astounded that there was a time, not that long ago, when I was awake to watch a movie after 11.)
Here is the link to that old post. Enjoy.
Monday, July 23, 2018
2018 Recital, Take Three, and How I Got Happy
This afternoon I sang my 2018 recital program for the third time. It was at a new senior residence, with a room that was too small for me to invite guests, although the piano was good. I didn't feel that I sang as well as the first two times (my highest notes didn't sound as good) but my teacher said that the problem was that the room had a low ceiling which muffled the sound, so that my voice didn't "spin".
But the audience was appreciative, except for one woman who glared and only applauded selectively (she did not applaud for "Tanti Affetti" but did for "Cruda Sorte" and "Mon Coeur"), and then left.
I certainly would be happy to sing there again.
I think this is the last time for this particular program, and I may retire "Tanti Affetti" for quite some time now.
My teacher and I are discussing reviving our 2015 concert of duets. We may replace the Gioconda material with a duet from Favorita, which means that I will sing the aria from Favorita as well. Actually, I should call it Favorite, because my teacher is singing one of the bass roles in French, so he will give me a copy of the music for the duet and my aria in French.
And if we do that particular concert we will do the Enrico/Giovanna duet from Anna Bolena, which I love.
Something I realized yesterday is that I am probably happier now than I have been in close to 15 years. I was very happy for the most part in my 30s and 40s (I was not singing then, but did a lot of traveling and socializing and had one "fun" job, which, although mainly about paper pushing, had all sorts of meetings, lunches, and business trips interspersed between the dull work, which was how things were back before the Internet. I mean I love the Internet, but it definitely drained all the "social" out of a lot of boring jobs.) In my 50s I was happy somewhat, but my relationship with my partner definitely had begun to deterioriate. I was working very hard at a senior management job, and coming home and making dinner because - what - she had arthritis??? And she was becoming more and more disagreeable. Then I discovered singing, and The Mentor, and all bets were off. I became someone else. I don't want to rehash all that here; I have done it enough. During that period I was often euphoric, so I suppose that was a form of happiness, but then everything came crashing down. My relationship with him became abusive, I found the minister to be unsympathetic, and she decided to do away with all the classical music. So I was pretty much vocally homeless. I discovered (over a period of 10 years at least) that no matter how well I thought I sang, I would never be competitive on the Upper West Side of Manhattan where as soon as one group of "emerging professionals" moved on, another took their place. No "amateur" opera group wanted me; they could get professionals. And I felt beset on all sides. If I wanted to produce something myself it was hard to get people to come (who would want to come to a homemade concert of opera scenes if they could hear real music - aka someone's senior recital at one of the three conservatories here?)
And on top of all that I had taken early retirement from my job (which I had come to hate) only to replace it with working at home, alone, at my laptop hour after hour, taking breaks by reading blogs of real singers who were never in the same city for more than a few weeks and endlessly posted pictures of themselves in costume or solicited feedback on their latest head shots. And I felt totally misunderstood. If I posted or blogged things about how unhappy my colorless life was making me, I was told to just "pull up my socks" because of all the people who had suffered major tragedies who nonetheless always had a full social calendar (I am thinking of one woman in particular who trashed me in a comment to a personal blog - not this one - when she hardly knew me).
Things began to improve when I turned 66 and could collect Social Security. I decided that I would never have a "dream career" (musical or not) so I just had to hold my nose, spend 20 hours a week at home copyediting, and then fill my life with nonremunerative activities that I found fulfilling. Then my partner got on Medicaid. In some ways, my life as a caregiver looks harder, because I am responsible for coordinating her round the clock care and managing her business affairs, but it really isn't. I'm an unpaid Geriatric Care Manager, which is certainly a much more interesting "job" than being a full-time freelance copyeditor (being a part-time one I can stomach) and more importantly, I feel that what I do matters. I am making the end of someone's life more comfortable and sweeter than it would be otherwise.
As for singing, ironically, despite the fact that I keep singing better and better, that singing is easier and easier, my range is wider, and I have more stamina, I have made my peace with the fact that there is no place for me in the "world" of singing as singers (I mean the "Forum Crowd") experience it. That's OK. I have made a specialty now of singing in nursing homes. The audiences are appreciative and I don't have to worry if my friends do or don't come. Some of the facilities are large enough to accommodate guests, others are not, but for the ones that are, if five of my friends come, that's enough. And I even got some nice videos. I don't go to the opera, even though it's around the corner. And while I would go to something at Lincoln Center if someone bought me a ticket (or someone wanted to go and we made it a social thing), I will never go to any performances by all those opera companies that rejected me. And except for a handful of people who have gone out of their way to be supportive and nice, I have unfriended all the singers I once friended because I envied and admired them. My mornings with Facebook are much happier now that most of my interactions (usually with people from church or former coworkers) involve more parity and less of a feeling that I am an unwanted tagalong, only suffered if I know my place.
For now, anyhow, I am contented being a small town girl who just happened to be born in a big city and never moved.
But the audience was appreciative, except for one woman who glared and only applauded selectively (she did not applaud for "Tanti Affetti" but did for "Cruda Sorte" and "Mon Coeur"), and then left.
I certainly would be happy to sing there again.
I think this is the last time for this particular program, and I may retire "Tanti Affetti" for quite some time now.
My teacher and I are discussing reviving our 2015 concert of duets. We may replace the Gioconda material with a duet from Favorita, which means that I will sing the aria from Favorita as well. Actually, I should call it Favorite, because my teacher is singing one of the bass roles in French, so he will give me a copy of the music for the duet and my aria in French.
And if we do that particular concert we will do the Enrico/Giovanna duet from Anna Bolena, which I love.
Something I realized yesterday is that I am probably happier now than I have been in close to 15 years. I was very happy for the most part in my 30s and 40s (I was not singing then, but did a lot of traveling and socializing and had one "fun" job, which, although mainly about paper pushing, had all sorts of meetings, lunches, and business trips interspersed between the dull work, which was how things were back before the Internet. I mean I love the Internet, but it definitely drained all the "social" out of a lot of boring jobs.) In my 50s I was happy somewhat, but my relationship with my partner definitely had begun to deterioriate. I was working very hard at a senior management job, and coming home and making dinner because - what - she had arthritis??? And she was becoming more and more disagreeable. Then I discovered singing, and The Mentor, and all bets were off. I became someone else. I don't want to rehash all that here; I have done it enough. During that period I was often euphoric, so I suppose that was a form of happiness, but then everything came crashing down. My relationship with him became abusive, I found the minister to be unsympathetic, and she decided to do away with all the classical music. So I was pretty much vocally homeless. I discovered (over a period of 10 years at least) that no matter how well I thought I sang, I would never be competitive on the Upper West Side of Manhattan where as soon as one group of "emerging professionals" moved on, another took their place. No "amateur" opera group wanted me; they could get professionals. And I felt beset on all sides. If I wanted to produce something myself it was hard to get people to come (who would want to come to a homemade concert of opera scenes if they could hear real music - aka someone's senior recital at one of the three conservatories here?)
And on top of all that I had taken early retirement from my job (which I had come to hate) only to replace it with working at home, alone, at my laptop hour after hour, taking breaks by reading blogs of real singers who were never in the same city for more than a few weeks and endlessly posted pictures of themselves in costume or solicited feedback on their latest head shots. And I felt totally misunderstood. If I posted or blogged things about how unhappy my colorless life was making me, I was told to just "pull up my socks" because of all the people who had suffered major tragedies who nonetheless always had a full social calendar (I am thinking of one woman in particular who trashed me in a comment to a personal blog - not this one - when she hardly knew me).
Things began to improve when I turned 66 and could collect Social Security. I decided that I would never have a "dream career" (musical or not) so I just had to hold my nose, spend 20 hours a week at home copyediting, and then fill my life with nonremunerative activities that I found fulfilling. Then my partner got on Medicaid. In some ways, my life as a caregiver looks harder, because I am responsible for coordinating her round the clock care and managing her business affairs, but it really isn't. I'm an unpaid Geriatric Care Manager, which is certainly a much more interesting "job" than being a full-time freelance copyeditor (being a part-time one I can stomach) and more importantly, I feel that what I do matters. I am making the end of someone's life more comfortable and sweeter than it would be otherwise.
As for singing, ironically, despite the fact that I keep singing better and better, that singing is easier and easier, my range is wider, and I have more stamina, I have made my peace with the fact that there is no place for me in the "world" of singing as singers (I mean the "Forum Crowd") experience it. That's OK. I have made a specialty now of singing in nursing homes. The audiences are appreciative and I don't have to worry if my friends do or don't come. Some of the facilities are large enough to accommodate guests, others are not, but for the ones that are, if five of my friends come, that's enough. And I even got some nice videos. I don't go to the opera, even though it's around the corner. And while I would go to something at Lincoln Center if someone bought me a ticket (or someone wanted to go and we made it a social thing), I will never go to any performances by all those opera companies that rejected me. And except for a handful of people who have gone out of their way to be supportive and nice, I have unfriended all the singers I once friended because I envied and admired them. My mornings with Facebook are much happier now that most of my interactions (usually with people from church or former coworkers) involve more parity and less of a feeling that I am an unwanted tagalong, only suffered if I know my place.
For now, anyhow, I am contented being a small town girl who just happened to be born in a big city and never moved.
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Ditch the Sports Car
I haven't written in a while, despite having had a satisfyingly successful time singing my Bach cantata aria last Sunday. I sang well, and had the delightful surprise of a viola da gamba accompaniment as well as the organ. And people applauded which they never to after a church solo unless it's something bouncy.
But this article caught my eye. It even mentions The Artist's Way, a program that my therapist recommended, which helped me more than anything I became involved in after AA and The Well Spouse.
Yes, I suppose I do fit the profile featured in this article, down to producing several charity concerts (although my takings were in the $100s not $1000s) and my current specialization of singing in nursing homes.
The one thing this article does not mention, however, is what happens when you discover a passion in midlife that you're obviously good at but not as good as the people who are really good at it, who, even if they don't do it for a living, do it as well as the people who are doing it for a living, all went to the same schools, and all know each other?
The exhilaration that I found at first realizing that I could not only sing Dalila but be Dalila at a tiny church "talent show" was quickly followed by years of rage, envy, and despair as a result of not only being rejected at auditions, but also being attacked on all sides by sharks and snarks when I tried to "join the club". I was rejected by all ten or so "amateur" opera companies here because I was too old, too inexperienced, and not polished enough, and was alternately laughed at and ignored by what I call the "Forum Crowd" (a group of lower level professional and semi professional singers who have in common that they all seem to have music performance degrees and hate wannabees, amateurs who are too big for their britches, and anyone without their credentials who thinks she can converse with her betters like a peer.) (And as I wrote this, looking for a link, I saw that their new message board is closed and requires a log in.)
I suppose a Saturday night painter can paint alone, but you can't really sing alone. There's only so far you can go singing arias in your living room, particularly considering that appreciation is pretty thin on the ground if you live, like I do, around the corner from Lincoln Center and have neighbors who go to the Met every week.
So I sing in a church choir, and am a church soloist. The irony of course is that both my parents were atheists (my mother defined herself as a secular Jew) and I am not Baptised. But it is a nice niche. There are real professional singers who cycle in and out of there but they move on to greener pastures or have limited time for solo opportunities. The older retired professionals (I'm thinking of one) are very "been there, done that". Who is going to sing a solo in the summer if they can go away?
And I produce concerts in nursing homes. I have done two since May and will be doing a third next week. And my teacher, who is now back to singing bass-baritone again, is already thinking of a concert of duets (some old some new) that we can do in the Fall or next Spring.
And of course I'm still waiting to be the subject of an op-ed or other newspaper story, like the singer featured today.
But this article caught my eye. It even mentions The Artist's Way, a program that my therapist recommended, which helped me more than anything I became involved in after AA and The Well Spouse.
Yes, I suppose I do fit the profile featured in this article, down to producing several charity concerts (although my takings were in the $100s not $1000s) and my current specialization of singing in nursing homes.
The one thing this article does not mention, however, is what happens when you discover a passion in midlife that you're obviously good at but not as good as the people who are really good at it, who, even if they don't do it for a living, do it as well as the people who are doing it for a living, all went to the same schools, and all know each other?
The exhilaration that I found at first realizing that I could not only sing Dalila but be Dalila at a tiny church "talent show" was quickly followed by years of rage, envy, and despair as a result of not only being rejected at auditions, but also being attacked on all sides by sharks and snarks when I tried to "join the club". I was rejected by all ten or so "amateur" opera companies here because I was too old, too inexperienced, and not polished enough, and was alternately laughed at and ignored by what I call the "Forum Crowd" (a group of lower level professional and semi professional singers who have in common that they all seem to have music performance degrees and hate wannabees, amateurs who are too big for their britches, and anyone without their credentials who thinks she can converse with her betters like a peer.) (And as I wrote this, looking for a link, I saw that their new message board is closed and requires a log in.)
I suppose a Saturday night painter can paint alone, but you can't really sing alone. There's only so far you can go singing arias in your living room, particularly considering that appreciation is pretty thin on the ground if you live, like I do, around the corner from Lincoln Center and have neighbors who go to the Met every week.
So I sing in a church choir, and am a church soloist. The irony of course is that both my parents were atheists (my mother defined herself as a secular Jew) and I am not Baptised. But it is a nice niche. There are real professional singers who cycle in and out of there but they move on to greener pastures or have limited time for solo opportunities. The older retired professionals (I'm thinking of one) are very "been there, done that". Who is going to sing a solo in the summer if they can go away?
And I produce concerts in nursing homes. I have done two since May and will be doing a third next week. And my teacher, who is now back to singing bass-baritone again, is already thinking of a concert of duets (some old some new) that we can do in the Fall or next Spring.
And of course I'm still waiting to be the subject of an op-ed or other newspaper story, like the singer featured today.
Monday, July 2, 2018
Why the Fallout from the Falling Out Described in My Last Post is So Relevant Right Now
I, who usually post and blog mindlessly (often saying things that I later regret or would be embarrassed to say out loud to people in person) have been uncharacteristically silent for the past few weeks.
The reason is that there is a whole litany of nightmarish things that have been going on, about which I simply have nothing to say. This does not mean that I don't care about them or don't have feelings about them; it simply means that I am not articulate about issues involving the larger world. I am articulate about myself, other people I know, social dynamics, psychological dynamics, and maybe issues that really hit close to home, like class, but what can I possibly say about children in cages, the danger posed by a vacant Supreme Court seat, or the monstrousness of shooting journalists?
It seems that since joining Facebook, I find myself surrounded not only with superachievers with graduate degrees, but also with people who can adroitly opine about everything in the news, and who regularly post and share articles, photos, and clever justapositions of truths. I am just not good at that. I never was. If I was "present" in school at all, I was the literary one, not the girl most likely to be voted class President. In my senior year in high school (which I mostly binge-dieted, necked and petted, and played hookey through) I took an extra foreign language, not journalism or Problems of American Democracy.
I was comfortable in AA and some of the women's discussion groups I belonged to because I could be good with words describing my feelings and asking about other people's. In fact, talking about politics or anything ideological that did not involve making an "I" statement was forbidden in those groups.
Probably part of my addiction to complaining is that I write well when I have a personal complaint (or a triumph to share); less so when I am talking about an "issue". Other people do that better.
But because of the ugly way that I was dumped into the garbage by LC, I now feel very gun shy about talking about my own life when so many things are going on the world. I am also not that good at doing much about them. I live in a state where my two senators and my congressional representative will vote the way I want them to in almost every instance.
I don't go on demonstrations and I don't feel guilty. The most important thing I can do on a Saturday is be with my partner because that is what I have promised her. If it weren't the height of hubris to paraphrase Jesus, I would say "demonstrations will always be with us, but she [my partner] is only here for a short while."
In other news: singing is going well. My solo for July 8 is an aria from a Bach cantata, which I rehearsed this past Sunday. I love it, and am flattered that the Director of Music Ministries picked it out for me. I also bought a book of art songs and spirituals by Florence Price. I am very excited about learning some of these. The Director of Music says he will look over some of the selections, to see if there are any I could sing some time.
And I asked the man from church who made several videos before to make one of my July 8 solo.
The reason is that there is a whole litany of nightmarish things that have been going on, about which I simply have nothing to say. This does not mean that I don't care about them or don't have feelings about them; it simply means that I am not articulate about issues involving the larger world. I am articulate about myself, other people I know, social dynamics, psychological dynamics, and maybe issues that really hit close to home, like class, but what can I possibly say about children in cages, the danger posed by a vacant Supreme Court seat, or the monstrousness of shooting journalists?
It seems that since joining Facebook, I find myself surrounded not only with superachievers with graduate degrees, but also with people who can adroitly opine about everything in the news, and who regularly post and share articles, photos, and clever justapositions of truths. I am just not good at that. I never was. If I was "present" in school at all, I was the literary one, not the girl most likely to be voted class President. In my senior year in high school (which I mostly binge-dieted, necked and petted, and played hookey through) I took an extra foreign language, not journalism or Problems of American Democracy.
I was comfortable in AA and some of the women's discussion groups I belonged to because I could be good with words describing my feelings and asking about other people's. In fact, talking about politics or anything ideological that did not involve making an "I" statement was forbidden in those groups.
Probably part of my addiction to complaining is that I write well when I have a personal complaint (or a triumph to share); less so when I am talking about an "issue". Other people do that better.
But because of the ugly way that I was dumped into the garbage by LC, I now feel very gun shy about talking about my own life when so many things are going on the world. I am also not that good at doing much about them. I live in a state where my two senators and my congressional representative will vote the way I want them to in almost every instance.
I don't go on demonstrations and I don't feel guilty. The most important thing I can do on a Saturday is be with my partner because that is what I have promised her. If it weren't the height of hubris to paraphrase Jesus, I would say "demonstrations will always be with us, but she [my partner] is only here for a short while."
In other news: singing is going well. My solo for July 8 is an aria from a Bach cantata, which I rehearsed this past Sunday. I love it, and am flattered that the Director of Music Ministries picked it out for me. I also bought a book of art songs and spirituals by Florence Price. I am very excited about learning some of these. The Director of Music says he will look over some of the selections, to see if there are any I could sing some time.
And I asked the man from church who made several videos before to make one of my July 8 solo.
Thursday, June 14, 2018
A (Self-Absorbed) Anniversary and Reflections Two Years On
A Facebook post I saw this morning reminded me that June 12 was the two year anniversary of the shooting in the Pulse nightclub in Orlando. One of many. They are all sad, or horrific.
Which means it is also the two year anniversary of my being summariliy and cruelly dumped by a lifelong friend, whom I will call "LC". I have written extensively about this here, and here, and here, in the immediate aftermath, but now I have had quite some time to reflect.
This "dumping" (my therapist told me that her email to me saying "this is my last note; do not respond in any way" was like the childish dismissive texts that millennials send when they're breaking up with a lover of a few months) was probably just about the cruelest thing that anyone I considered a "friend" has ever done to me. I have had friendships peter out, sometimes because that was what the other person wanted; sometimes because that was what I wanted. I have had quarrels with people (I had one with LC in 2004 or 2005 which ended with my dropping an F bomb on her). But I have never been dumped with no explanation by someone because she thought something I had said (or in this case not said), which was not personal, offended her values. Yes, values can end a friendship, but that's more in the vein of "I can't be friends with Trump voters". Which leaves the door open that maybe, 10 years from now, when Trump is out of office, if the two people see each other again, they might pick up the friendship.
What I considered so ugly about this whole thing was that LC encouraged me to probe deeply into my psyche (it was a two-way street), asking me questions, asking me more questions, until, apparently, I said something that deeply offended her.
Bait and switch. I first heard that phrase from LC, as a matter of fact, several decades ago, when she used it to describe an unfortunate experience buying a car, or a washing machine, I don't remember. I had never heard it before, but then again, as a lifelong New York apartment dweller, I don't do that kind of shopping. But I realize now that that is the most apt definition of what LC did to me. She encouraged me to be a virtual member of her "covenant group", which used "word prompts" to "speak their truth". I have been in groups like that in the past, in person, and one of the ground rules is that people speak their truth and they are not judged. So LC seduced me into that activity and then broke that rule. The word prompt for that month had been "blessings". So I began talking about "counting your blessings." Which prompted her to ask me what I meant when I said that. So I said that I needed to remember things like the fact that I had clean drinking water, a safe place to live, healthy food, and healthcare, because in the context in which I live I consider myself "underprivileged".
As I wrote in yesterday's post, it apparently offended her that I referred to myself as "underprivileged". But that was my truth, which was what this word game (I am deliberately disparaging it because she so grossly and evilly misused it) was about. Then - I guess - my asking her advice about something I considered a snub (something we had each done with each other many times) the day after the shooting in Orlando was probably, for her, the last straw.
Bait and switch. She not only broke the rules of this "covenant" she was so gung-ho about, she also abruptly changed the rules in the middle of our daily correspondence, without telling me, and then made it a deal-breaker. Not a temporary source of irritation as in "we're really not on the same page right now; I just can't listen to some of what you're writing to me about; let's take a break and catch up in the Fall", but never. Don't respond in any way.
Then she (obviously resentfully) sent me the promised (artificial) flowers for my birthday, then I apologized, saying if I had offended her I was sorry, then she said she was just going to say goodbye because she wanted to be kind (kind??? what planet is she living on?) and hoped we could part "on good terms". Really? Good terms?? (I suppose she meant her terms.)
Then she sent me a thank you note for a picture I had sent her daughter for a memory book and I wrote her the nastiest (but most carefully crafted, with nothing untrue or hyperbolic) letter in all caps, not an email, with no salutation and signature, asking her never to communicate with me again.
But I am still angry. What dawned on me over a year later is that I am so angry because she deprived me of a confidante like no other. So it was like coming home and finding all my furniture on the street with the door locked and no warning. I can't tell you how many times I will start musing (about Myers-Briggs, about people, about politics) and say to myself "Gee I should tell LC that" and then WHOA.
She did me a lot of damage. I guess my takeaway is that relationships based solely on what is politely referred to in therapy circles as "co-ruminating" are destined to end badly. Sure, I still share confidences with friends, but they are usually about things that are concrete (problems with my partner, feeling isolated, artistic yearnings that are unfulfilled, quarrels with other friends) and more importantly, this is not the bulk of our interaction. We usually share interests, eat together, even go on outings. So there's some substance there. And if friends live in the same city (someplace I never leave) even if there's tension, and a quiet backing away, we never know when we'll see each other in person and move closer again.
I hope writing this will help me evict LC from my head. She doesn't deserve to rent space there.
Which means it is also the two year anniversary of my being summariliy and cruelly dumped by a lifelong friend, whom I will call "LC". I have written extensively about this here, and here, and here, in the immediate aftermath, but now I have had quite some time to reflect.
This "dumping" (my therapist told me that her email to me saying "this is my last note; do not respond in any way" was like the childish dismissive texts that millennials send when they're breaking up with a lover of a few months) was probably just about the cruelest thing that anyone I considered a "friend" has ever done to me. I have had friendships peter out, sometimes because that was what the other person wanted; sometimes because that was what I wanted. I have had quarrels with people (I had one with LC in 2004 or 2005 which ended with my dropping an F bomb on her). But I have never been dumped with no explanation by someone because she thought something I had said (or in this case not said), which was not personal, offended her values. Yes, values can end a friendship, but that's more in the vein of "I can't be friends with Trump voters". Which leaves the door open that maybe, 10 years from now, when Trump is out of office, if the two people see each other again, they might pick up the friendship.
What I considered so ugly about this whole thing was that LC encouraged me to probe deeply into my psyche (it was a two-way street), asking me questions, asking me more questions, until, apparently, I said something that deeply offended her.
Bait and switch. I first heard that phrase from LC, as a matter of fact, several decades ago, when she used it to describe an unfortunate experience buying a car, or a washing machine, I don't remember. I had never heard it before, but then again, as a lifelong New York apartment dweller, I don't do that kind of shopping. But I realize now that that is the most apt definition of what LC did to me. She encouraged me to be a virtual member of her "covenant group", which used "word prompts" to "speak their truth". I have been in groups like that in the past, in person, and one of the ground rules is that people speak their truth and they are not judged. So LC seduced me into that activity and then broke that rule. The word prompt for that month had been "blessings". So I began talking about "counting your blessings." Which prompted her to ask me what I meant when I said that. So I said that I needed to remember things like the fact that I had clean drinking water, a safe place to live, healthy food, and healthcare, because in the context in which I live I consider myself "underprivileged".
As I wrote in yesterday's post, it apparently offended her that I referred to myself as "underprivileged". But that was my truth, which was what this word game (I am deliberately disparaging it because she so grossly and evilly misused it) was about. Then - I guess - my asking her advice about something I considered a snub (something we had each done with each other many times) the day after the shooting in Orlando was probably, for her, the last straw.
Bait and switch. She not only broke the rules of this "covenant" she was so gung-ho about, she also abruptly changed the rules in the middle of our daily correspondence, without telling me, and then made it a deal-breaker. Not a temporary source of irritation as in "we're really not on the same page right now; I just can't listen to some of what you're writing to me about; let's take a break and catch up in the Fall", but never. Don't respond in any way.
Then she (obviously resentfully) sent me the promised (artificial) flowers for my birthday, then I apologized, saying if I had offended her I was sorry, then she said she was just going to say goodbye because she wanted to be kind (kind??? what planet is she living on?) and hoped we could part "on good terms". Really? Good terms?? (I suppose she meant her terms.)
Then she sent me a thank you note for a picture I had sent her daughter for a memory book and I wrote her the nastiest (but most carefully crafted, with nothing untrue or hyperbolic) letter in all caps, not an email, with no salutation and signature, asking her never to communicate with me again.
But I am still angry. What dawned on me over a year later is that I am so angry because she deprived me of a confidante like no other. So it was like coming home and finding all my furniture on the street with the door locked and no warning. I can't tell you how many times I will start musing (about Myers-Briggs, about people, about politics) and say to myself "Gee I should tell LC that" and then WHOA.
She did me a lot of damage. I guess my takeaway is that relationships based solely on what is politely referred to in therapy circles as "co-ruminating" are destined to end badly. Sure, I still share confidences with friends, but they are usually about things that are concrete (problems with my partner, feeling isolated, artistic yearnings that are unfulfilled, quarrels with other friends) and more importantly, this is not the bulk of our interaction. We usually share interests, eat together, even go on outings. So there's some substance there. And if friends live in the same city (someplace I never leave) even if there's tension, and a quiet backing away, we never know when we'll see each other in person and move closer again.
I hope writing this will help me evict LC from my head. She doesn't deserve to rent space there.
Wednesday, June 13, 2018
Some Musings on Children and Summer
Last week I went to the Central Park Zoo with my oldest friend. She had her 14-year-old grandson with her for the summer, so he came too. Based on things she had told me, I thought he was interested in wildlife, particularly birds, but he said no, he wasn't interested in birds, he preferred dogs, so I asked him about his dog. That was probably the last verbal interchange we had. After that his ears were so totally plugged up with whatever he was listening to (my friend said it was Rap, but I wouldn't have cared if it had been Bach) that he did not respond to any attempts to make conversation. I complained about it to my friend and she said "well, he's 14". I don't consider that a valid excuse. He needs to be taught that that sort of behavior just, as the British say "won't do". At what age are young people supposed to be taught manners, then? Fine if he looks sullen, fine if he looks bored. People can't be expected to control the fact that emotions show on their faces. That's acceptable for 14. But when you are someplace, that's where you are. You don't block out where you are with plugs in your ears. Of course adults do this too, and (because I'm an "ear person"?) I find this much worse than sitting and texting. At least if you're doing that and someone speaks to you you know you've been spoken to.
Fourteen was pretty much my last chance to take the right "fork in the road" and I didn't. I'm not sure what would have made a difference; there was such a terrible confluence of circumstances. An eating disorder, my mother's preoccupation with grieving over my father's death, my lack of adult mentors (most of the adults I saw in my mother's house were drinking and being smartass). And of course the fact that it was the 60s, when it was cool to say yes to drugs and no to just about everything else: school, career plans, thinking about a future, learning homemaking and budgeting skills... But even I would have responded if someone spoke to me in the course of an afternoon when my mother dragged me off to an "enrichment activity" with her friends. I might have said something stupid or something fresh, but I would have said something.
So I think of all the "theater kids" (did that phrase even exist before the millennium? I doubt it). And the kids who are in enrichment programs and intensive courses which means summers away in beautiful surroundings. Middle class kids have these things paid for by parents. Some less privileged kids can get scholarships if they're lucky. Sometimes I think there are two types of kids (irrespective of race or class). The ones who appreciate the chance to build a future and the ones who snub adults and try to be cool. As I said in an earlier post about marijuana, the world is too competitive and harsh to shoot yourself in the foot by saying no to your future to spite grownups. The fallout from that will still be with you when you're 60. I know.
Ah, summer! Since I haven't been working and have been a caregiver I haven't really had a summer. Another marker of being a middle-class professional: summers away. All those summer music festivals. Professional and emerging professional musicians get to go to these. Sometimes I shut my eyes and think how desperately I yearn to be someplace like that. There are ones for writers and artists too. I forget the generic catch-all phrase for these. Colonies?
I know that one of the things that antagonized the loathesome LC (in addition to my talking about myself instead of sobbing over the shooting in Orlando the week following) was that I referred to myself as "underprivileged". Well I think I am. I'm not really poor; I don't worry about how I'm going to pay the rent or buy food, and I have a few small luxuries, but I don't go away for the summer. That's what "underprivileged" means to me. That's why there's a "fresh air fund" for kids.
Maybe there's a music and arts "camp" for senior citizens. If I ever have some free time I will look for one and scrounge up the money.
Fourteen was pretty much my last chance to take the right "fork in the road" and I didn't. I'm not sure what would have made a difference; there was such a terrible confluence of circumstances. An eating disorder, my mother's preoccupation with grieving over my father's death, my lack of adult mentors (most of the adults I saw in my mother's house were drinking and being smartass). And of course the fact that it was the 60s, when it was cool to say yes to drugs and no to just about everything else: school, career plans, thinking about a future, learning homemaking and budgeting skills... But even I would have responded if someone spoke to me in the course of an afternoon when my mother dragged me off to an "enrichment activity" with her friends. I might have said something stupid or something fresh, but I would have said something.
So I think of all the "theater kids" (did that phrase even exist before the millennium? I doubt it). And the kids who are in enrichment programs and intensive courses which means summers away in beautiful surroundings. Middle class kids have these things paid for by parents. Some less privileged kids can get scholarships if they're lucky. Sometimes I think there are two types of kids (irrespective of race or class). The ones who appreciate the chance to build a future and the ones who snub adults and try to be cool. As I said in an earlier post about marijuana, the world is too competitive and harsh to shoot yourself in the foot by saying no to your future to spite grownups. The fallout from that will still be with you when you're 60. I know.
Ah, summer! Since I haven't been working and have been a caregiver I haven't really had a summer. Another marker of being a middle-class professional: summers away. All those summer music festivals. Professional and emerging professional musicians get to go to these. Sometimes I shut my eyes and think how desperately I yearn to be someplace like that. There are ones for writers and artists too. I forget the generic catch-all phrase for these. Colonies?
I know that one of the things that antagonized the loathesome LC (in addition to my talking about myself instead of sobbing over the shooting in Orlando the week following) was that I referred to myself as "underprivileged". Well I think I am. I'm not really poor; I don't worry about how I'm going to pay the rent or buy food, and I have a few small luxuries, but I don't go away for the summer. That's what "underprivileged" means to me. That's why there's a "fresh air fund" for kids.
Maybe there's a music and arts "camp" for senior citizens. If I ever have some free time I will look for one and scrounge up the money.
Sunday, June 10, 2018
My Four Quads
I wanted to stop by here to let readers know I am feeling much better.
I got another recital date in a senior residence: Monday July 23. The only problem is finding an accompanist. My regular accompanist always goes away for the summer and the new one I found will be away that week. So I'm putting feelers out. There's an accompanist at church who is really good and who is not busy 24/7, so I asked her and am waiting to hear back. I might sing a duet with my teacher this time, probably the "Barcarole" from La Gioconda.
This morning I did something that I never dreamed I would be able to do, and which I certainly would not have been able to do even as recently as last year. The choir sang a tiny snippet from Bernstein's Mass which entailed the sopranos singing four pianissimo high As. I nailed all of them not just this moring but every single time in every rehearsal. And in my warmups at home, I am singing sustained, float-y high Bs, and even the occasional C.
So it's totally untrue that voices lose range and flexibility as people age. It all depends.
I also got my summer choir solo date: June 8. I came up with an idea of something to sing and am waiting to hear back from the music director.
(As for the title of this post, I watch a lot of skating, and have always thought that the way skaters set themselves up for a jump is very similar to how singers - or I, anyhow - set ourselves up for high notes. So those pianissimo high As weren't just doubles or triples, they were quads!!)
I got another recital date in a senior residence: Monday July 23. The only problem is finding an accompanist. My regular accompanist always goes away for the summer and the new one I found will be away that week. So I'm putting feelers out. There's an accompanist at church who is really good and who is not busy 24/7, so I asked her and am waiting to hear back. I might sing a duet with my teacher this time, probably the "Barcarole" from La Gioconda.
This morning I did something that I never dreamed I would be able to do, and which I certainly would not have been able to do even as recently as last year. The choir sang a tiny snippet from Bernstein's Mass which entailed the sopranos singing four pianissimo high As. I nailed all of them not just this moring but every single time in every rehearsal. And in my warmups at home, I am singing sustained, float-y high Bs, and even the occasional C.
So it's totally untrue that voices lose range and flexibility as people age. It all depends.
I also got my summer choir solo date: June 8. I came up with an idea of something to sing and am waiting to hear back from the music director.
(As for the title of this post, I watch a lot of skating, and have always thought that the way skaters set themselves up for a jump is very similar to how singers - or I, anyhow - set ourselves up for high notes. So those pianissimo high As weren't just doubles or triples, they were quads!!)
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
A Bold Move
After a terrible experience getting harsh (and I suppose mostly gauche) negative criticism (it was so severe and all encompassing it completely took me aback and left me shaken for weeks) after posting some (badly engineered) sound clips at a time when I wasn't sounding as good as I would have liked, I have only once posted a video of myself singing here. That was in 2012 (the day after "Sandy Hook") and I posted a video made in church of me singing "Der Engel" by Richard Wagner, struggling to keep the whole thing pianissimo, and only using half my voice.
Well, now This video of me singing Rossini is the culmination of 14 years of hard work. I was debating whether or not to publish it here, and I know that I'm doing it partly because I'm proud and partly because I'm angry and depressed.
I know this is silly; I know how hard I've worked, how much progress I've made, everyone says it including my teacher and the choir director (I can sing a pianissimo high A off the cuff which I couldn't even do last year). But all I have to do is engage with real singers talking about singing and I feel like nothing. Like a tiny mouse who has found herself in a den of snakes. Sometimes they ignore me, sometimes I think they're laughing at me. Mostly I feel like someone who's stepped into an exclusive club where I don't belong. And I keep trying! I keep putting feelers out. Because I'm stupid and have no self-esteem.
(I'm also depressed now because I have no more solo singing on the horizon other than something in church in July or August tbd).
So here's "Tanti Affetti", one of the most flamboyant mezzo arias on the planet. Like it or lump it.
Well, now This video of me singing Rossini is the culmination of 14 years of hard work. I was debating whether or not to publish it here, and I know that I'm doing it partly because I'm proud and partly because I'm angry and depressed.
I know this is silly; I know how hard I've worked, how much progress I've made, everyone says it including my teacher and the choir director (I can sing a pianissimo high A off the cuff which I couldn't even do last year). But all I have to do is engage with real singers talking about singing and I feel like nothing. Like a tiny mouse who has found herself in a den of snakes. Sometimes they ignore me, sometimes I think they're laughing at me. Mostly I feel like someone who's stepped into an exclusive club where I don't belong. And I keep trying! I keep putting feelers out. Because I'm stupid and have no self-esteem.
(I'm also depressed now because I have no more solo singing on the horizon other than something in church in July or August tbd).
So here's "Tanti Affetti", one of the most flamboyant mezzo arias on the planet. Like it or lump it.
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
Second Recital and Some Random Thoughts
The second recital went well. The setting was less formal than that in the other nursing home and senior centers where I've sung, but that was OK. Most of the "noise" came from the area near the front door of the facility. The people in the room (including a girl who looked about 8 or 9) were very quiet.
I felt as if I sang better than before, but as there won't be any videos, I can't be sure.
I like the new accompanist. He is a wonderful musician and very supportive. I will probably stay with my primary accompanist as a first choice (he charges less and lives in a more convenient location, for one thing) but it's good to have a backup. Of course I had a tiny "ouch" moment when he said he would like to come back there and play because a setting like that is "a good place to try out" repertoire that he is going to be playing in a more formal setting. This made me wince because it is precisely that phenomenon that has shut me out of so many of even the humblest venues. The most blatant example to me is "Sing-Through Central" (a chance to sing operas from a book with other people, for a coaching fee) which is used by professionals and emergings to learn or test-drive roles, when an outfit like that should really be for amateur "living room singers" like me who want a chance to do something they love that they will never be able to do anywhere else. Will all the "outreach" venues go that route, I wonder?
But I can't think that way. I am now getting back into gear to find a new place to sing. I guess singing for seniors is my "niche". I have an affinity for the elderly, partly because I take care of one, and doing this is a chance to "give back" (although I don't really see it that way as it's my only chance to sing for an audience other than church, not something I do out of the goodness of my heart despite other opportunities beckoning) and a low-stress setting in which I can sing whatever I want to, more or less. And I refuse to think of what I'm doing as "second best" any more than I would ever think I've settled for "second best" because the charming, funny, sweet, romantic love of my life turned out to be someone bone idle and totally unable to manage time, money, or a living space. And now she's a frail senior. Which makes it easier because a frail senior by definition no longer can manage those things, so I no longer resent doing them for her. I can't see myself as a failure because neither I nor my spouse was ever an "upper-middle class professional". Our minister said something interesting in last Sunday's sermon. She said we as a society shouldn't only value people according to their ability to be "productive". That the "endless cycle of producing and consuming" is not what life is about.
Speaking of church, my voice keeps getting higher and I am more and more comfortable singing even a high soprano part if the alternative is a low alto part, or in any event, one that has such a minimal "arc" that I can't get my voice to do what it does best: make a big beautiful sound somewhere between the middle and the top of the staff. We sang the final chorus from Elijah, and the compromise was that the second sopranos sang soprano until we got to the little chunks of music where the sopranos were singing a high A at which point we sang with the altos. Of course I got completely lost. I wouldn't have if I had had time to rehearse, which I hadn't. I am not a natural harmonizer, don't sightread, and know nothing about music theory, so unless I am singing the top part (which is all I hear if I listen to any kind of recording) I have to drill my part over and over, singing "against" a recording with the volume turned way up. I probably should have just stuck with the soprano part and might even have been able to sing the high As. At this point I am not only "reaching" but blossoming on B flats, B naturals, even the occasional C, when I vocalize. Next week we are singing a tiny snippet of Bernstein's Mass. The sopranos have four piano/pianissimo high As, which I can definitely sing because there is a big break before each set of two.
As for the "random thoughts", I posted an article on Facebook about all the downsides to marijuana use. Yes, I begrudgingly (very begrudgingly) support legalizing recreational use if only so that young people of color don't end up with a criminal record for being caught smoking it or carrying it, but I am dubious. Social drinking is one thing; it can be considered part of fine dining. But the only reason for nonmedical use of marijuana is to get "high" or "stoned" and to me that is such a waste of human potential (ditto for drinking to get drunk or "wasted") that why make it easier for people. The people who will go hog-wild with it will mostly be under 25, which is the time period when young people need to be alert and at their best so that they can make plans about their future and carry these out. I know that the tragedy of my life isn't that I drank alcoholically and abused diet pills (I was never much of a marijuana smoker - I didn't like the way it made me feel; never mind that it made me hungry which was a deal breaker) but that I did it during the years between 18 and 25 when I could have been going to college, exploring extracurricular activities, making connections with people that could last a lifetime, and charting a course through adulthood. And I saw this with a great many of my peers. And some of them ended up dead, in prison, or permanently psychotic from taking LSD or even smoking hashish. Scrambling to earn a living and get a college degree at night between the ages of 27 and 40 did not allow me to accrue any of the advantages that young people are accruing today beginning in high school (at which point in my life I was so deep in an eating disorder that I might as well have been out of it on drugs). Theater kids? Did that concept even exist when I was growing up? That's who I'm competing with if I want to perform somewhere. The conservatory kids and theater kids who are now in their 30s, even 40s. Even the ones who never made a profession out of performing have that to draw on when all I have is a lovely voice and a good ear. And the nonperforming young people were deep into summer immersion programs when they were as young as 12 or 13. Those things stay with you. Which brings me back to my original point about marijuana. Smoking it when you're young and impressionable (a phase that neuropsychology believes lasts until the age of 25) is like deliberately saddling yourself with a handicap. The world is a harsh, difficult, treacherous, and competitive enough place to navigate. Why make it harder for yourself? If I remember and repeat to myself daily any slogan from AA it's "There's no situation so bad that drinking won't make it worse." Yes, there's no situation so hard that doing it stoned (or hung over) won't make it harder.
I felt as if I sang better than before, but as there won't be any videos, I can't be sure.
I like the new accompanist. He is a wonderful musician and very supportive. I will probably stay with my primary accompanist as a first choice (he charges less and lives in a more convenient location, for one thing) but it's good to have a backup. Of course I had a tiny "ouch" moment when he said he would like to come back there and play because a setting like that is "a good place to try out" repertoire that he is going to be playing in a more formal setting. This made me wince because it is precisely that phenomenon that has shut me out of so many of even the humblest venues. The most blatant example to me is "Sing-Through Central" (a chance to sing operas from a book with other people, for a coaching fee) which is used by professionals and emergings to learn or test-drive roles, when an outfit like that should really be for amateur "living room singers" like me who want a chance to do something they love that they will never be able to do anywhere else. Will all the "outreach" venues go that route, I wonder?
But I can't think that way. I am now getting back into gear to find a new place to sing. I guess singing for seniors is my "niche". I have an affinity for the elderly, partly because I take care of one, and doing this is a chance to "give back" (although I don't really see it that way as it's my only chance to sing for an audience other than church, not something I do out of the goodness of my heart despite other opportunities beckoning) and a low-stress setting in which I can sing whatever I want to, more or less. And I refuse to think of what I'm doing as "second best" any more than I would ever think I've settled for "second best" because the charming, funny, sweet, romantic love of my life turned out to be someone bone idle and totally unable to manage time, money, or a living space. And now she's a frail senior. Which makes it easier because a frail senior by definition no longer can manage those things, so I no longer resent doing them for her. I can't see myself as a failure because neither I nor my spouse was ever an "upper-middle class professional". Our minister said something interesting in last Sunday's sermon. She said we as a society shouldn't only value people according to their ability to be "productive". That the "endless cycle of producing and consuming" is not what life is about.
Speaking of church, my voice keeps getting higher and I am more and more comfortable singing even a high soprano part if the alternative is a low alto part, or in any event, one that has such a minimal "arc" that I can't get my voice to do what it does best: make a big beautiful sound somewhere between the middle and the top of the staff. We sang the final chorus from Elijah, and the compromise was that the second sopranos sang soprano until we got to the little chunks of music where the sopranos were singing a high A at which point we sang with the altos. Of course I got completely lost. I wouldn't have if I had had time to rehearse, which I hadn't. I am not a natural harmonizer, don't sightread, and know nothing about music theory, so unless I am singing the top part (which is all I hear if I listen to any kind of recording) I have to drill my part over and over, singing "against" a recording with the volume turned way up. I probably should have just stuck with the soprano part and might even have been able to sing the high As. At this point I am not only "reaching" but blossoming on B flats, B naturals, even the occasional C, when I vocalize. Next week we are singing a tiny snippet of Bernstein's Mass. The sopranos have four piano/pianissimo high As, which I can definitely sing because there is a big break before each set of two.
As for the "random thoughts", I posted an article on Facebook about all the downsides to marijuana use. Yes, I begrudgingly (very begrudgingly) support legalizing recreational use if only so that young people of color don't end up with a criminal record for being caught smoking it or carrying it, but I am dubious. Social drinking is one thing; it can be considered part of fine dining. But the only reason for nonmedical use of marijuana is to get "high" or "stoned" and to me that is such a waste of human potential (ditto for drinking to get drunk or "wasted") that why make it easier for people. The people who will go hog-wild with it will mostly be under 25, which is the time period when young people need to be alert and at their best so that they can make plans about their future and carry these out. I know that the tragedy of my life isn't that I drank alcoholically and abused diet pills (I was never much of a marijuana smoker - I didn't like the way it made me feel; never mind that it made me hungry which was a deal breaker) but that I did it during the years between 18 and 25 when I could have been going to college, exploring extracurricular activities, making connections with people that could last a lifetime, and charting a course through adulthood. And I saw this with a great many of my peers. And some of them ended up dead, in prison, or permanently psychotic from taking LSD or even smoking hashish. Scrambling to earn a living and get a college degree at night between the ages of 27 and 40 did not allow me to accrue any of the advantages that young people are accruing today beginning in high school (at which point in my life I was so deep in an eating disorder that I might as well have been out of it on drugs). Theater kids? Did that concept even exist when I was growing up? That's who I'm competing with if I want to perform somewhere. The conservatory kids and theater kids who are now in their 30s, even 40s. Even the ones who never made a profession out of performing have that to draw on when all I have is a lovely voice and a good ear. And the nonperforming young people were deep into summer immersion programs when they were as young as 12 or 13. Those things stay with you. Which brings me back to my original point about marijuana. Smoking it when you're young and impressionable (a phase that neuropsychology believes lasts until the age of 25) is like deliberately saddling yourself with a handicap. The world is a harsh, difficult, treacherous, and competitive enough place to navigate. Why make it harder for yourself? If I remember and repeat to myself daily any slogan from AA it's "There's no situation so bad that drinking won't make it worse." Yes, there's no situation so hard that doing it stoned (or hung over) won't make it harder.
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
The Bitter and the Sweet (2018 Version)
This is a title I use frequently, but have not used this year so far. I guess it's just life.
I got the videos from the recital and thought everything sounded good except for the Handel (which I knew didn't sound good because I sang too fast and didn't take breaths that I should have taken).
But
I just hate how awkward I look. As the evening wore on, I looked less and less awkward, but that's because as the evening wore on, the pieces I sang became vocally easier and easier so I was able to relax and have fun. But I don't want to give up the difficult pieces that I sing well. Here's the problem. I fidget, look worried, do things with my arms to "aid" in vocal production (do these things really aid anything?) and worst of all, for whatever reason, I walked off the stage at the end of "Tanti Affetti" when the pianist had not yet finished playing, to get some water between songs. Getting water was OK; doing it without letting the pianist finish was not. It was like when I sang Carmen in costume and forgot to take my glasses off. What upsets me about this isn't that I don't like how I look; it's that I know these problems are the result of my never having had the right kind of "grooming". Over the past 14 years I have just about had the time to devote to refining my vocal technique and learning music. I have not been in any setting where I would be coached on how to walk on and off the stage, look at the audience, and look poised while I'm singing. This is the kind of thing that someone like "Little Miss" has had going for her since she was 10, and now I guess she's in her mid 20s.
The good news is that I had my first rehearsal with the new pianist today. I had gotten very little sleep because after looking at the videos last night around 10 pm I was upset and found it hard to stay asleep (I didn't have a problem falling asleep, but woke up several times, the last being at 5:50 am, after which I could not go back to sleep). Well, I can sleep tonight, I hope. Anyhow I really sang well, including "Tanti Affetti" so I guess I really own all those high notes and fancy gimmicks and can do them at will (the way I can sing "Rejoice Greatly", which sounds hard to other people). This pianist is more of a coach than my other pianist, who is predominatly an accompanist (I have never heard him tell me anything about style for example). This new pianist gave me a number of pointers, including about "Mon Coeur", which I have been singing for over a decade. These subtleties are very interesting and I hope to do them justice.
So now I just have to rest (we have choir rehearsal tomorrow, for which - I think - all I have to do is sing an alto part on a chorus from Elijah) for the next few days. I have a lesson on the 29th, last rehearsal on the 31st, and the concert on June 2. Then I will decide what to do next.
This new pianist aspires to be a conductor and has conducted operas with a small company in Brooklyn that has an orchestra. He asked me if I would want to sing in their opera chorus and I said no (politely). There is no pay involved and there would be a lot of rehearsal time. I would rather sing recitals of songs and arias in front of a small audience than be lost in a big opera chorus. I might do it if I were younger and could see it as a step toward singing a leading role, but now, no.
I got the videos from the recital and thought everything sounded good except for the Handel (which I knew didn't sound good because I sang too fast and didn't take breaths that I should have taken).
But
I just hate how awkward I look. As the evening wore on, I looked less and less awkward, but that's because as the evening wore on, the pieces I sang became vocally easier and easier so I was able to relax and have fun. But I don't want to give up the difficult pieces that I sing well. Here's the problem. I fidget, look worried, do things with my arms to "aid" in vocal production (do these things really aid anything?) and worst of all, for whatever reason, I walked off the stage at the end of "Tanti Affetti" when the pianist had not yet finished playing, to get some water between songs. Getting water was OK; doing it without letting the pianist finish was not. It was like when I sang Carmen in costume and forgot to take my glasses off. What upsets me about this isn't that I don't like how I look; it's that I know these problems are the result of my never having had the right kind of "grooming". Over the past 14 years I have just about had the time to devote to refining my vocal technique and learning music. I have not been in any setting where I would be coached on how to walk on and off the stage, look at the audience, and look poised while I'm singing. This is the kind of thing that someone like "Little Miss" has had going for her since she was 10, and now I guess she's in her mid 20s.
The good news is that I had my first rehearsal with the new pianist today. I had gotten very little sleep because after looking at the videos last night around 10 pm I was upset and found it hard to stay asleep (I didn't have a problem falling asleep, but woke up several times, the last being at 5:50 am, after which I could not go back to sleep). Well, I can sleep tonight, I hope. Anyhow I really sang well, including "Tanti Affetti" so I guess I really own all those high notes and fancy gimmicks and can do them at will (the way I can sing "Rejoice Greatly", which sounds hard to other people). This pianist is more of a coach than my other pianist, who is predominatly an accompanist (I have never heard him tell me anything about style for example). This new pianist gave me a number of pointers, including about "Mon Coeur", which I have been singing for over a decade. These subtleties are very interesting and I hope to do them justice.
So now I just have to rest (we have choir rehearsal tomorrow, for which - I think - all I have to do is sing an alto part on a chorus from Elijah) for the next few days. I have a lesson on the 29th, last rehearsal on the 31st, and the concert on June 2. Then I will decide what to do next.
This new pianist aspires to be a conductor and has conducted operas with a small company in Brooklyn that has an orchestra. He asked me if I would want to sing in their opera chorus and I said no (politely). There is no pay involved and there would be a lot of rehearsal time. I would rather sing recitals of songs and arias in front of a small audience than be lost in a big opera chorus. I might do it if I were younger and could see it as a step toward singing a leading role, but now, no.
Friday, May 18, 2018
A Personal Best
Well, I would say that taken as a whole, last night's recital was a "personal best". Certainly "Tanti Affetti!" I would never have been able to sing that even two years ago. I guess I now really "own" a B flat. Back to the dreaded Amneris/Radames some day? Maybe, or maybe not. I just have lost my palate for that kind of thing. Too bad, because that probably would have been my fach if I had started singing younger and been out there in the mix. I just want to sing bel canto, Handel, Bach. Speaking of Handel, the one piece I was not please with was "Had I Jubal's Lyre". This was the first time I sang it in public without taking breaths in the long runs and I think it sounded a little sloppy. I asked the accompanist to play it fast and maybe it was too fast. Also it was the first thing I sang.
The videographer was there. I offered to pay her and she refused. She is such a lovely person and does such a professional job. I'm sure when I see and hear the videos I will find things to criticize but that's the whole point. If I like something, I can post it. If I don't, I can learn something from it.
Now I have a respite and then I have to do the whole thing again. I have never done a recital twice, so that will be interesting. And next week I will meet the new accompanist for the first time. My teacher's wife knows him. And I talked to a friend about the neighborhood and she said it should be fine to go up there during the day.
Here's a picture.
The videographer was there. I offered to pay her and she refused. She is such a lovely person and does such a professional job. I'm sure when I see and hear the videos I will find things to criticize but that's the whole point. If I like something, I can post it. If I don't, I can learn something from it.
Now I have a respite and then I have to do the whole thing again. I have never done a recital twice, so that will be interesting. And next week I will meet the new accompanist for the first time. My teacher's wife knows him. And I talked to a friend about the neighborhood and she said it should be fine to go up there during the day.
Here's a picture.
Tuesday, May 15, 2018
Second and Final Rehearsal for My First Recital, and Some Additional Thoughts on What Should be Sung in Church
Today we had a runthrough (start to finish) for the recital. I am still congested. So is everyone, so it seems. My partner had a friendly visitor on Sunday who was congested (not sick, just congested). A nurse came to see her yesterday and she was coughing and clearing her throat (allergies, not a cold). Everyone says it's the worst season for allergies on record (I don't know if I have any; I just feel congested, not sneezy). My teacher said he couldn't hear the congestion. He was having an allergy attack because the accompanist has two cats. The high Rossini didn't go as well as last time (I didn't hold the last high B flat) but I got through it and nailed every note cleanly. And I sang the high and low Rossini arias back to back with no glitches. I still felt congested singing "Mon Coeur" (the easiest thing on the planet for me to sing) but after my teacher sang his second number and I started the third part of the program with "Amapola", suddenly I felt fine. Then I felt congested again singing "I Dreamt I Dwelt" but did not have any tension creeping in; mostly because I took the breaks I had planned to.
My teacher told me not to sing much tomorrow, just to do some exercises, and then to sing my regular routine on Thursday, the day of the recital. He said I can try a section of the high Rossini cabaletta if I want to, right before the recital.
I'm lucky I work at home, so I can basically just "cocoon" for 48 hours and sit here and edit manuscripts and make some money. And not have to talk.
After my last post (which got a lot of hits; I also posted it on Facebook and shared it with people from church) I realized that I had some lingering thoughts about music and church. First and foremost, for good or ill, is self-interest. I want to sing. I want to sing music that allows my voice to soar. A church is a comfortable place to do that, and a church with a smallish choir is a good place to get enough exposure (solos, being the obvious "leader" on a second soprano part) to make me happy.
But secondarily, if I am going even to hear music in a church, I want it to go high. I mean this partly literally but also figuratively. Of course everyone loves a low bass and choirs need them! But I want to hear something that soars. (I used that word before; I guess I'm thinking that church should mean the Heavens.) Classical music soars, African-American spirituals soar, gospel soars. I could be happy hearing Aretha Franklin in a church (she's a pastor's daughter, by the way). Bob Dylan never. (I realized that my gut loathing of him centers around the sound of his voice, not his words. I recently edited an article that used some of his "poetry" and I tried to look at it divorced from that horrible drug-damaged, raspy voice, and was somewhat able to do so.)
I don't want to hear gutteral voices, raspy voices, voices that sound like they are in tatters from years of drug abuse, drinking, or smoking and I don't want to sing music in a key so low that it is best sung that way. (And I'm not talking about a low classical piece like "O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion! I'm talking about "Someone to Lean On" in a bass - not an alto - range, which was what was on offer at the UU General Assembly I went to in 2005.) I know that I ruined my chances of ever being the singer I could have been by smoking, drinking, and abuse of diet pills and speed, and there are days when I would give everything that I have to go back to 1964 and do it over. I don't want those memories triggered in a church, which for me (and many others) is meant to feel like "sanctuary".
My teacher told me not to sing much tomorrow, just to do some exercises, and then to sing my regular routine on Thursday, the day of the recital. He said I can try a section of the high Rossini cabaletta if I want to, right before the recital.
I'm lucky I work at home, so I can basically just "cocoon" for 48 hours and sit here and edit manuscripts and make some money. And not have to talk.
After my last post (which got a lot of hits; I also posted it on Facebook and shared it with people from church) I realized that I had some lingering thoughts about music and church. First and foremost, for good or ill, is self-interest. I want to sing. I want to sing music that allows my voice to soar. A church is a comfortable place to do that, and a church with a smallish choir is a good place to get enough exposure (solos, being the obvious "leader" on a second soprano part) to make me happy.
But secondarily, if I am going even to hear music in a church, I want it to go high. I mean this partly literally but also figuratively. Of course everyone loves a low bass and choirs need them! But I want to hear something that soars. (I used that word before; I guess I'm thinking that church should mean the Heavens.) Classical music soars, African-American spirituals soar, gospel soars. I could be happy hearing Aretha Franklin in a church (she's a pastor's daughter, by the way). Bob Dylan never. (I realized that my gut loathing of him centers around the sound of his voice, not his words. I recently edited an article that used some of his "poetry" and I tried to look at it divorced from that horrible drug-damaged, raspy voice, and was somewhat able to do so.)
I don't want to hear gutteral voices, raspy voices, voices that sound like they are in tatters from years of drug abuse, drinking, or smoking and I don't want to sing music in a key so low that it is best sung that way. (And I'm not talking about a low classical piece like "O Thou That Tellest Good Tidings to Zion! I'm talking about "Someone to Lean On" in a bass - not an alto - range, which was what was on offer at the UU General Assembly I went to in 2005.) I know that I ruined my chances of ever being the singer I could have been by smoking, drinking, and abuse of diet pills and speed, and there are days when I would give everything that I have to go back to 1964 and do it over. I don't want those memories triggered in a church, which for me (and many others) is meant to feel like "sanctuary".
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